The Path in the Dark
by OnceUponBacktoTheFuture
Summary: Eight years after Merlin's greatest failure and a self-inflicted banishment from Camelot, Queen Guinevere and the knights call upon him for help in a time of great need - but can Merlin forgive himself for his past mistakes and learn to live again? This picks up after the TV show left off - Spoilers (Obviously) - Several new characters but no pairings that aren't cannon.
1. The Empty Castle

Part I: Out of Darkness

Guinevere entered the throne room slowly, her steps echoing against the stone walls. She never much cared for the sound of her own footsteps; they made the castle she once loved sound big and empty. With a habitual sigh she took her place in the ornate chair at the head of the room. As she sat she was careful to adjust her dress so it would lay just right, and the imported silk would not wrinkle. The needless steaming of her gowns, in her opinion, was a chore with which she would rather not burden her servants. She tossed a smile at the one on her left – a young girl, fair almost to the point of ghostliness, who received the gesture with some trepidation. Though the queen was kind to her serving girls, they never seemed keen to accept the idea of her friendship. She was, after all, the queen, and they but lowly servants.

The large wooden doors at the far end of the hall opened ceremoniously, letting out a prestigious groan as the old hinges struggled with their weighty task. Sir Leon strode in, the mud-encrusted bottom of his burgundy cape dragging against the stone floor. He walked quickly, but despite this, Guinevere had to resist the urge to charge toward him and beg for the news which he brought. That, of course, would be ungraceful and unqueenly.

"My lady," Leon said. He took a knee before the throne and bowed his head. At the top of his scalp, a few wiry silver hairs were tangling with his blonde mane, silently reminding Guinevere just how old they both had gotten.

"Sir Leon," she said, "What news?"

A few other knights trailed into the throne room, looking a bit haggard from their journey. Leon stood, and his hand came to rest, as it almost always did, on the hilt of his sword.

"We found his dwelling, my lady. It was as Gaius said, in the caves beyond Ealdor."

"And what did he say?"

Leon's eyes alighted on the ground, and he shifted his weight, causing his cape to sway just the slightest. "He would not speak to us."

"Not a word?" Guinevere asked. She arched forward in her seat.

"No," Leon said. "But I saw him, and he saw us. We approached the cave calling his name, but were thrown back with a great force – you know the way, my lady. We landed gently on the ground, however, and no men were hurt but for a few bruises."

"No injuries?"

"None, my lady. Perhaps," Leon paused here, glancing behind him at the half dozen young knights who stood in the corridor, "there was some wounded pride, but no physical harm."

"I am glad," Guinevere said.

"As were we. We got to our feet, some drew their swords for fear, and then I saw him. He walked slowly over the rocks and stopped in the open. He met my eyes for a moment, and I saw there was no welcome in his cold gaze. A wall of fire sprung up between us, frightening many of the men, and so we left."

"Were you scared, Sir Leon?"

Leon met the queen's eyes, and his mouth slipped halfway open. This was not a question he had expected to encounter. "No," he said after a long moment.

"Oh please," muttered a young knight, "You were quaking just as much as the rest of us." The knight's arms were folded across his chest, and he arched backward in an overstated attempt to look taller. Leon ignored his accusation with a composure developed over years of working with young, brash men who had not yet learned manners.

The man nearest the knight, an even younger boy with a shock of bright red curls, elbowed him in the ribs. "Shut it, Galahad," he said, and the knight bit is tongue.

"Leon," Guinevere said, "would you say he is dangerous?"

"His powers are great, but…" Leon sucked in a great breath of air and took a few measured steps closer to the queen. "You know him as well as I, he would never harm a man who didn't deserve it."

Gwen nodded, and said, "Perfect. Ready some supplies. We shall ride at dawn tomorrow." She rose as if to make her exit, and the two attentive servant girls on either side of her turned quickly on their heels to follow.

"My lady?" Leon said.

Gwen stopped. "Yes, Sir Leon?"

"You mean to ride to Ealdor?"

"Perhaps he will speak to me."

"You are his queen," Leon said.

"I am his friend. Hopefully that will be enough."

Leon gave a great smile and took a knee again, bidding the queen to retire. She had only begun to turn away when a voice called from the back of the room, "My Queen, are you sure such a journey is safe?"

Gwen straightened up, and gave her most queenly gaze. "Sir Galahad, you have a knack for speaking out of turn."

"I am sorry, but I worry for you. This man's powers are a terrible sight to behold—"

"Sir Leon has already told me he is not dangerous."

"With all respect, my lady—"

"Will all respect, Sir Galahad, you were not here when he walked Camelot's streets. You do not know him."

"Are you certain you do?"

Guinevere strode toward the knight. He was a dark man, both in complexion and in humor, and he seemed to shrink away as the queen drew near to him. Gwen studied his face, which was thin and handsome and adorned with two dark eyes. There was something about those eyes that gave Gwen hope for this man, despite his squirrely behavior and unfavorable attitude. "I will be riding to Ealdor tomorrow at dawn, Sir Galahad. On my word no harm shall come to me or the knights who accompany me, but if you are frightened, you are welcome to remain in Camelot."

She smiled, and there was fire in the gesture. Without any more formality, she left the room, listening once again to the sound of her own footsteps in the echoing halls.

"You should not have done that," Leon said. "You need to learn respect, Galahad. She is your queen."

"And the queen should not be personally going in search of a dangerous sorcerer!"

"Galahad!" Leon said, "One more word and you will be on night patrol for the next fortnight."

Galahad opened his mouth, then reconsidered and shut it. The young ginger beside him withheld a bout of laughter as Leon marched out of the room. "I told you so," he said once his superior was clear of the wooden doors. Galahad put on a particularly malicious scowl, and strode away in a different direction, regretting volunteering to go in search of the sorcerer in the first place.


	2. The Man in the Cave

Dawn fell over Camelot, a golden light breaking on the east and then slowly climbing, lighting each building and tree with the hopeful glow of a new day. Guinevere made her way down the staircase leading to the courtyard, breathing in the morning air that had blown in from the countryside. Leon had two horses by the reins, his big brown stallion and Gwen's favorite white mare.

"Good morning, Leon," she said. She turned to the horse and stroked her nose, smiling as she did.

"You seem in good spirits today," Leon said.

"Yes," Gwen said, "You don't seem too glum yourself."

Leon helped Gwen onto the horse and adjusted the skirt of her dress so that it fell comfortably over the animal's rear. The young red-headed knight and his spotted horse came trotting up to the queen's side, and the boy gave a garish nod.

"Sir Tristan, will you be joining us?"

"Oh yes, my lady," he said. The early light gave extra vibrancy to the freckles that dotted his nose. "I love a good magic show. You should've seen it the last time! I've never known anything like it."

"Was it that good?"

"It was! You know, when I was little I wanted to be a sorcerer. It was still outlawed then, so my mother told me to find a new occupation. If only I could've seen her face when I became a knight of Camelot. She never would have believed it."

"Tristan," Leon called, "you take the rear."

"Well, my lady, looks like we're about to get going. It was nice to talk to you."

A smile stretched across Gwen's face and she nodded. "Yes, nice chatting with you, Tristan." She found herself chuckling as the boy rode to the back of the formation and one of her servant girls took his place at her side.

"Something funny, my lady?" the girl asked.

"He just reminds me…" Gwen let out a sigh, "Oh, never mind."

The horses began to move with some considerable speed, and Gwen let her mind drift back to her younger days, and the friends she had hoped she would never lose.

OIOIOIOIOIO

After a day of riding, Leon halted the party at dusk and they made camp. Guinevere's serving girl took to hanging a tent for her to sleep in, and while the work was being done, the queen sat in front of the small fire and watched the stew bubbling. Leon sat at her side, occasionally stirring hearty substance with a half-hearted motion. Leon was loyal and good company, but he was not much for saying unnecessary words, so the pair shared their usual silence.

"I see that Sir Galahad came after all," Gwen said, noting the dark knight and his bundle of firewood.

"He is a good man," Leon said, "But he has a lot to learn."

"I believe he has good intentions. Sometimes challenging authority is the right thing to do, though I certainly wish he would do it less often."

Leon laughed once. Wiry silver streaks were invading his beard as well, and when he spoke they caught the firelight and shimmered. Soon Gwen's hair would be losing its color too.

"The stew is done," Leon said, "Though be careful, it is still hot."

Guinevere received a bowl graciously, and simply held it in her hands, feeling its familiar warmth.

Most of the next day passed before the party reached the caves outside of Ealdor. Gwen was entertained on the ride by listening in on Tristan's ongoing rants, and by watching her servant girl make note of every type of bird she saw along the way.

"That is a swallow, is it not?" Gwen would ask the girl, simply so they might have something to talk about.

"We are getting close, my lady," Leon promised. "He lives just over the river."

Tristan was going on about some occasion he was taken in by a sheep herder in Ealdor when a chorus of shouts rang from the trees. Two dozen men brandishing axes and swords swarmed down an embankment to the right of the small party, raising hell as they came.

"Bandits!" Leon shouted, and the men turned about to face them. Gwen's horse protested against the commotion, but she urged her to stay steady. In Guinevere's experience, staying with the knights was a safer bet than attempting an escape.

The knights drew their swords and braced for collision with the onslaught of armed men, but the clash never came. Instead, the bandits were thrown into the air inexplicably. They smashed against trees, their weapons flew from their hands, and they landed uncomfortably on the forest floor.

The knights drew into a tight circle around Gwen and her serving girl, their swords raised and eyes darting about in search of the force that had derailed the bandits. The men on the ground gave a few feint moans here and there, though few bothered to stir. It was clear that for the moment they were no longer a threat.

Guinevere's eyes alighted on a tall, thin man who was gliding between the trees. He stepped out of the shadows of the forest into a patch of sunlight, and slowly, without regard to the knights, began to cross the rocky expanse that lay ahead. His cloak-covered shoulders were slumped, not in a manner of embarrassment, but in the way of one who has carried too much.

"That's him!" Tristan shouted. "That's the sorcerer!" Tristan's face lit with excitement, and he urged his horse toward the mysterious man.

"Stop," the sorcerer said. His voice was gravely and deep, like he had just woken from a long sleep. "I have had enough of knights, and kings, and Camelot. I thought I made that clear last time you came. Just go back where you belong."

The sorcerer turned his back on them, and slowly stepped over the rocks.

"Merlin!" Guinevere called, "have you had enough of old friends as well?"

Merlin stopped and reluctantly bent his head over his shoulder, his blue eyes peering at the queen from an untamed mop of dark hair. The afternoon sunlight caught on his defined cheeks, and for a moment he looked something like his old self.

"Gwen," he said, "I know why you have come. I cannot go back there. Camelot is not the same without him."

"I know," Guinevere said, leaning forward. She gripped the reins of the white mare in her hands and felt the leather biting into her skin. "It is like the light has gone out of the place. All the people, all the sounds, speak of loneliness. But it is still Camelot – his Camelot, my Camelot, your—"

"Don't say it," Merlin begged. He raised a trembling hand and pressed it to his forehead. "Please, don't say it."

Guinevere glanced at Sir Leon, who met her gaze and dismounted his horse. He stepped to her side, offered and hand, and helped her down. She smiled at Leon, who attempted to return the gesture, but was too shaken by the scene unfolding before him. The queen folded her hands in front of her and gingerly stepped onto the rocks.

"Camelot was your home once, Merlin, and I hope it may be your home again. Sorcery is no longer outlawed. If you return you will be free to be yourself without any judgement. There is room for you in the castle, and—"

"There is nothing for me in Camelot!" Merlin said. He turned towards Gwen, who was taken aback by his sudden change of tone. She bristled, but held her ground.

"And what is there for you in this cave?" Gwen studied her old friend's face. A thick, dark beard had sprouted on his chin, and his hair had grown into long half-curled locks. Dark circles encompassed his eyes, but there were no wrinkles to mark the passing of time – there was something ageless about those eyes, and something terribly tortured as well. "We all miss him, Merlin. But it's been eight years, it's time to start living life again."

"Eight years?" Merlin said softly, "That long?"

"Please," Gwen implored, "Come home, for me. For Gaius."

"This is my home now," Merlin said.

"Then come visit – just for a few days. It would make Gaius so happy. And there is something I must show you."

Merlin let out a little sigh, "Gwen—"

"I promise the journey will be worth it. And if it is not, I swear that I shall never seek you out again."

"Just a few days?" he said. Gwen nodded. "And it would make you happy?"

"More than anything."

With a half-hearted smile, Merlin said, "Then I shall come with you to Camelot, on one condition: the dragon comes too."

"Dragon?" Gwen said.

As if responding to a call, the large white beast emerged from the tree line and ambled up to Gwen, a smile spread across its scaly face and its papery wings rustling. The queen caught herself before a surprised gasp escaped her lips, but her serving girl, still surrounded by the party of knights, could not withhold a panicked shriek.

"Morgana's dragon?" Guinevere asked.

"Aithusa belongs to no woman or man. She is her own creature." Merlin pursed his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. "She may have put her trust in the wrong people, but isn't that a mistake we all have made?"

"We aren't all dragons, Merlin."

"But I am a dragon lord, and Aithusa is my responsibility. She needs me."

Gwen locked eyes on the dragon, who was sniffing the air carelessly. The big pale beast took another step closer to the queen, and a Leon took two steps towards the beast, sword drawn. Gwen's eyebrows furrowed and she bit her lip – this was a dragon, after all, Morgana's dragon. This dragon was the cause of so much of Camelot's pain. And yet…

Aithusa's big pink tongue reached out and licked Guinevere's cheek. The queen gasped and leaned back, almost to the point of falling, but recovered. Merlin did nothing to intercede, but let out one hearty laugh and patted Aithusa's back.

Gwen, despite herself, smiled.

"Are you sure she's safe to be around?" Gwen asked.

"She wouldn't hurt a fly."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but," Gwen looked at Leon and the others apologetically— "if it means you will return to Camelot, the dragon can come."

The knights all looked at one another. Some shrugged, some muttered. Galahad grumbled, "Did she just say the dragon can come?"

"This is even better than I'd expected," Tristan said. "A real dragon, can you believe it?"

"I'm trying not to." Galahad sighed, and he sunk back into his skulking.


	3. The White Dragon

Merlin insisted he did not need very much in the way of supplies, as he would not be staying in Camelot too long. Gwen did not protest this, but she hoped, perhaps not so secretly, that Merlin would not be returning to his cave in Ealdor. They set out that very night, despite the approaching dusk, for the queen feared if Merlin was given any time to think he would reconsider. So they traveled in the dim light, Gwen on her white horse and Merlin walking beside his white dragon.

"Excuse me, Sir Sorcerer," Tristan said from the rear.

"I am not a knight, you needn't call me 'Sir.'"

"Then what shall I call you?"

"Merlin would do," Merlin said. Guinevere smiled knowingly at Merlin, and Merlin smiled back. Though neither of them would admit it, both were the happiest they'd been in a long time.

"Merlin Sorcerer," said Tristan, "Why don't you ride your dragon to Camelot? That sure would beat walking."

"Aithusa has a bad back," Merlin said. "When she was young she was captured by a cruel man, who threw her into a pit. She grew too large and was crippled." Merlin glanced back at Tristan, who was listening intently. "Besides, dragons are not horses. They are not meant for riding."

"So you've never ridden a dragon, then?"

"Oh I rode one. A bigger one than Aithusa."

"Really?" Tristan said, leaning forward. "Did it fly?"

"Flew over all of Camelot with me on his back."

"Merlin, are you making this up?" Guinevere asked.

"No," Merlin said, "Do you remember the dragon that attacked Camelot?"

"Arthur slayed that dragon."

Merlin chuckled and looked at Gwen, his blue eyes sparkling. "No he didn't." The chuckle grew into a full laugh, and it was contagious; Gwen began laughing at the absurdity of it all, and Tristan laughed too, simply because he liked to laugh.

"Tell me more about the dragon you rode," Tristan urged. "How big was he? Could he breathe fire?"

"This one sure talks a lot, doesn't he?" Merlin whispered to Gwen. Then, to Tristan: "The dragon's name Kilgarrah. He was the last great dragon—the very last dragon, until Aithusa hatched. Now she will be the last. Kilgarrah could speak as clear as you or me, and he had the knowledge of a thousand years. There wasn't a prophecy or spell he didn't know. And yes, he could breathe fire. Aithusa breathes fire too."

The dragon reared up, sucked in a deep breath and spat back out a little ball of fire no bigger than a closed fist, which caused no damage except to singe the top of Sir Leon's curly hair.

"Merlin!" Leon protested, "Control your pet!"

"Sorry," Merlin said. He winked at Gwen, who stifled a laugh.

"That's amazing!" Tristan shouted. His horse startled and took a few steps sideways before regaining composure. "What happened to Kilgarrah?"

"He died," Merlin said.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Merlin said. "I was fortunate to know him. He lived a long life—over a thousand years. It was his time."

Guinevere heard the sadness in Merlin's voice and felt sadness creeping over herself as well. To keep the sorrow from consuming her, she said, "You know, Merlin, I've never actually seen you do any magic."

"Oh sure you have, lots of times. I was just in disguise."

"I mean I've never seen you do magic as you, the Merlin I know."

Merlin exhaled. "Would you like me to do some magic?"

"Would you?" Gwen asked.

"For you, Gwen, of course." Merlin stretched out his hand before him, his fingers curling just the slightest in concentration. He glanced at Gwen to make sure she was paying attention, and he felt a mischievous smile creep onto his face. Magic still felt like a secret to him, especially in the company of Camelot's finest knights, but here he was about to perform a spell with complete disregard. It felt wrong, but in the right sort of way.

" _Asthaiu voendum_ " Merlin said definitively. At once, last autumn's dead leaves flew up from beneath the horses hooves, and hoovered in the air around Guinevere and the knights like little brittle flags. Then they began to fold themselves inward over and over again until they inexplicably transformed into golden butterflies. Gwen smiled from ear to ear and held out her hand so that one may land on her palm.

"Do you like it?" Merlin asked.

"It's beautiful."

Aithusa took interest in the butterfly hoovering nearest her nose, and with great focus she leapt toward the thing, mouth open, and narrowly missed catching it.

"Sir Galahad," Tristan said, watching as a butterfly landed gracefully on his shoulder. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

Galahad, who was less amused, swatted away a few of the fluttery bugs and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Now we have a dragon _and_ magic butterflies. Perfect."

They walked on through the first hours of the night, Merlin and Aithusa leading the way.

"How can you be sure you're going the right direction?" Gwen asked.

"I can see the path ahead," Merlin said.

"Even in the dark?"

"It's the same path in the dark as it is in the light," Merlin assured. Aithusa spit out another ball of fire, which lit the forest for a moment before it fell back into darkness.

Eventually the party grew weary, and decided to make camp in a clearing just across the Camelot border. All the knights and Gwen's serving girl went about doing their business, and Merlin settled into the old habit of gathering fire wood. He lay the sticks, and Sir Leon began striking the flint to start the fire.

"May I?" Merlin asked.

Leon glanced up from the fire, thought for a moment, and then leaned away. Merlin raised a hand above the sticks and muttered, " _Bealobё_ " Flames leapt from the lifeless wood, casting an orange glow on Leon's face.

"Did you do that when we used to ride out on quests?" Leon asked.

"Only when you weren't looking." Merlin said. He sat down beside Leon with a sigh. "How has Camelot been these past years?"

Leon removed his boots and set them near the fire to dry. "There was some upset after Arthur died, but it did not last long. Gwen is a strong queen, and the people recognized her fairness. We had many years of peace."

"And now?" Merlin asked, sensing something in Leon's somber tone of voice.

"Now who can say? Something has changed of late." He stared into the flames for a moment, his thoughts wandering, but it seemed he noticed Merlin studying his face, for he said, "What about you? How is life as a hermit?"

Merlin laughed. "Clearly you haven't met many hermits."


	4. The Boy with the Blocks

By mid-afternoon the next day the small party had reached the forests just beyond Camelot. As they approached the break in the trees which would inevitably reveal the castle, Merlin felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had counted the years, the months, the days, since his departure from Camelot and he knew full well how long he'd been gone. He had chosen to live those years alone, telling himself that it was better that he not get involved with any more cases of destiny or build any more friendships that might be unfairly destroyed. And yet, as the white stone of the castle began peeking through the canopy of leaves, Merlin could not hide from himself the truth of his isolation: it was his punishment for himself, for failing at his one great purpose in life.

The trees parted before Merlin as he walked slowly forward, and the familiar sight of the castle took him by surprise. It did not look as changed as he had imagined it – the walls were still strong and tall, the trees still green, and no dark clouds hung in the air. Merlin paused at the mouth of the forest, and a tear ran down his cheek.

How different the castle had seemed on the night he left – it felt too big, like it might collapse on him. It was a week after the battle at Camlan, just two days after he'd buried his best friend. Merlin walked from Avalon to Camelot in a day and a half, pausing only when he felt his legs might give out beneath him. When at last he had reached the city, and exhausted stumbled into the great hall of the palace, Gwen had taken one look at him, seen his sorrow, and let out a great cry. Gaius bowed his head. Merlin was grateful he did not have to say the words out loud. To utter, "the king is dead" might have broken his heart beyond repair.

The next morning, Guinevere was crowned queen. Merlin slipped away during the ceremony when no one was looking, and he never returned.

He never said goodbye to Gaius, or Gwen, or anyone.

"Merlin?" Gwen called softly. She was ahead of him, but she stopped her horse and turned her about. "Merlin, are you alright?"

Merlin shook himself from his stupor and tried to keep his lip from quivering. "I just forgot how beautiful Camelot was," he said.

Gwen smiled, and she and the mare trotted off towards the castle.

The party passed first through the lower town, which seemed as active as ever, though Merlin thought there was a quiet sorrow that hung over the place. The smiles on the faces of the people were like transparent disguises for some more unpleasant emotion, and the greetings of the people to their queen seemed half-hearted. Or, perhaps Merlin imagined these things and it was his smile that was a disguise and his words half-hearted, but having spent so long alone he could not tell which case was true.

Within the citadel business was as usual with knights and noblemen pacing about the courtyard. One by one they paused as the queen passed by, gave a polite bow and said, "My Lady" or "My Queen," before resuming their movements. And most, before turning away from the small party, would take a moment to scrutinize Merlin – some with curiosity, most with suspicion. Merlin made the mistake of retuning one of the noblemen's gazes, and he saw in that man's eyes a cold hatred that shook Merlin to the bone.

There was more than one reason for not returning to Camelot.

Despite the stares and the uncomfortable silence that fell over the whole of the party -save for Gwen, who assumed an air of normality and proceeded as if every day a great sorcerer was escorted into the city – they landed in the courtyard and made their way up the long set of stairs that led to the castle.

For a moment it seemed odd to Merlin that no one greeted them at the foot of the stairs, but he quickly realized that with Leon already on the away party, there was no one of importance left to greet the Queen. Merlin for a moment felt his heart sink, but in an instant replaced that feeling with practiced indifference.

"Is it just as you remembered?" Gwen asked.

Merlin looked around, and was almost startled to find that for the most part it was.

"I can have a chamber prepared for you," Gwen said, "Or if you prefer, Giaus's spare room is still open."

Merlin smiled. "Does he still live in that same room after all these years?"

"Why move?" Gwen said, "He's happy there, and he has so many books and vials."

"I suppose that is true. I'll have to pay him a visit."

"He'd be heartbroken if you didn't," Gwen said. "But before you do—Merlin, remember I said there was something I needed to show you?"

Merlin followed the Queen down one of the castle's many corridors, and as they walked Guinevere put on a serious air. Merlin had scarce seen her with this attitude before, save for a few moments of life-or-death, and the change frightened him.

Gwen stopped suddenly just before an open doorway. Merlin stopped as well, tripping over himself a bit and not bothering to hide it. Gwen's mouth fell half open, but she seemed to lack the right words and so it fell shut again. After a moment she simply stepped aside, and Merlin, with the utmost caution, peaked his head around the door.

Merlin was not sure what he was expecting to see – something terrible, probably, or something valuable, or magical, or really anything other than a little boy stacking wooden blocks. Merlin studied the child for a long moment. His olive skin and dirty blonde hair seemed to glow with a strange regality in the late afternoon light, and there was something familiar about his cat-like eyes.

"I don't understand," Merlin said, turning to Gwen as she joined him in the doorway. "You've brought me here to show me a boy?"

Gwen watched the boy with a strange combination of familiarity and sadness. "He's my son," Guinevere said. "He's Arthur's son."

Merlin's face fell, and for a moment he could not look back at the boy. That was why his eyes looked so familiar – they were exactly the same shape as Arthur's, but with the deep brown color of Gwen's. Merlin could not speak.

"Merlin, I didn't just bring you here to show him to you. I wanted to ask a favor, a big favor. My son is young, and yet already enemies descend upon him because he is a Pendragon. He needs someone to protect him, as his father was protected. Not only that, but someone to guide him, and help him learn…"

"Gwen," Merlin said suddenly, stepping from the doorway. "You can't seriously be asking me to help you raise this kid? I don't know anything about children."

"You and I raised Arthur and he turned out fine."

Merlin tilted his head and let out a sigh, which despite best intentions held a bit of amusement in it. "That was different. He was already an adult."

"Please, Merlin, he needs someone to look after him. Already his life has been threatened. Last week when he and I were riding in the forest an unseen assassin fired an arrow at him. Luckily the assassin's aim was not true, and managed only a scratch. I am sure, though, that if you had been there he would not have even done that."

"Gwen…"

"I know what you did for Arthur all those years, how well you protected him. Could you not do the same for his son?"

Merlin took a great breath and turned his eyes back on the boy. He was stacking his blocks with great speed and ferocity, but without method. When the unsteady pile got too high, a few pieces of wood would tumble back down, and the boy would quickly retrieve them, undaunted, and return them to the heap. It was only when the child stood to gather more blocks that Merlin noticed the bandage wrapped around his leg.

"He is all I have left of Arthur," Guinevere said. "I hope one day he should be as great of a man as his father was."

Merlin nodded, his blue eyes shining.

"Would you like to meet him?" Gwen asked. Merlin turned slowly, but before he could speak, Gwen called, "George, come here, there's someone I want you to meet."

The boy sprung up and ran to his mother, attempting to compensate for his slight limp by moving faster. He barreled into Gwen, nearly knocking her over with a waste-high hug. He then turned to Merlin and wrinkled his nose.

"George, this is my dear friend, Merlin."

Merlin bent halfway down to meet the boy at eye level. "Hello George," he said.

"Are you a knight?" the boy asked.

"No," Merlin said.

"I didn't think so. You don't look like a knight. Are you a king?"

At this, Merlin chuckled. "No."

"Most all of mum's friends are knights and kings and some queens and noble people. So if you aren't a knight or a king, what are you?"

"I am someone who looks not at what people are, but what they might become."

George's nose wrinkled again. "You sound like Giaus," he said.

Merlin looked up at Gwen and smiled. "I really must be getting older."

George studied Merlin's face with a sense of purpose and then said, "You don't look that old. I think you'd look younger without the beard."

"He's not wrong," Gwen said.

Merlin rolled his eyes at no one in particular and settled further into his crouch. "George, I was a friend of your father's. He was…the best man I ever knew. I am not a knight or a king, I was his servant. And I would be honored to serve you as I did him."

George looked up at his mother, who gave a half nod. Then the boy turned to Merlin, straightened up and tried to look kingly. "You're hired," he said.

Merlin stood. "You knew I was going to stay, Gwen, didn't you?"

"Of course you would. You're you."

George tugged on the sleeve of Merlin's cloak. "I've never had a servant before," he said.

"Well," Merlin said, "The thing you have to remember is always treat your servants better than your dogs. If you do that you'll already be doing better than your father."

"I don't have any dogs, so that should be easy."

"Good," Merlin said, "and there's one more thing you should know…" Suddenly, the wood blocks tumbled into the hallways of their own volition, skittered around George on the floor and then assembled themselves into a magnificent tower. Merlin winked at Gwen, and George gawked at the blocks. "I have magic."


	5. The Impossible Words

Part II: His Father's Son

Gaius shuffled his way from one end of his chambers to the other. He didn't remember having to shuffle like that in his younger days, and the pace of it drove him mad. No longer was it such a forgivable sin to leave a vial on the shelves on the other side of the room, for in forgetting that one vial Gaius could lose twenty minutes of his day. It was insufferable, but Gaius assured himself he still had some energy left in him. He could still whip up a cure as surely as ever, and he certainly never lost a night's sleep feeling too sorry for himself.

Gaius stopped in front of a large set of wooden shelves, and his hand hoovered over a selection of herbs and leaves. Stickle wart—that's what he was looking for. He grabbed the leaves, turned, and for some reason was rather put off by what he saw when he did.

A large white dragon had poked its scaly head through his window. Gaius wasn't sure what he was expecting to see in that moment, but it certainly wasn't that. He let out an unfettered yelp and stumbled backwards, finding himself rather unhappily mid-fall. He was not far from the ground, but at his age any tumble could prove as fatal as a fall from the top of the tower. And so it was relief that he felt when he stopped falling as suddenly as he had started, hoovering in the air mid-way between upright and horizontal. Slowly he floated back onto his feet, still inches away from the long snout of the dragon, which beheld him with the utmost curiosity.

"Gaius," a voice called from just behind him. "We really must stop meeting this way. One of these days, I might not catch you."

"Merlin!" Gaius shouted, throwing his hands in the air, "Morgana's dragon is attacking the castle!"

" _My_ dragon…" Merlin attempted to interject. His words, however, fell on deaf ears. Gaius grabbed the nearest broom and began swatting at the dragon's nose, causing the great thing to catch a whiff of dust and let out a tremendous sneeze, complete with a bit of hazy smoke. Gaius stumbled back again from the impact, landing gracelessly in Merlin's patient grasp.

"Well aren't you going to do something about this?" Gaius continued. He turned to Merlin, still in a bout of utter outrage. "Use your magic, or…" He urged. And then, as if seeing something very obvious for the first time, Gaius's face changed. Merlin waited patiently, a foolhardy smile dancing on his lips. "Merlin!" Gaius said at last, and threw his arms around his old friend in a warm embrace.

"It's good to see you, Gaius," Merlin said.

"Good? Oh, you're a sight for an old man's sore eyes, Merlin." Gaius pulled away and patted Merlin's arms. "Let me look at you," he said, squinting a bit as he examined the lanky man in front of him.

A long moment passed, in which Merlin made every attempt to suppress his joy at being back in that old, messy room with the man who had more or less raised him. It felt too much like home, like happiness, and that meant Merlin once again had something to loose.

"You have beard now," Gaius said at last. "I don't like it."

Merlin's smile dropped into a half-scowl in accordance with his mild annoyance. "Yes, well, you've cut your hair short."

Gaius's hand fluttered to the top of his head, and as if remembering himself he said, "So I have."

The dragon in the window let out a sigh, calling Gaius's attention back to her. "Would you care to explain the dragon? Or where you've been all these years?"

Merlin stood very still, feeling the weight of his body on his feet, and the firmness of the stone floor beneath him. An apology was in order, but what could he say? 'I'm sorry' did not seem to suffice for the crimes he'd committed, and yet to say more would feel like making an excuse. So he said instead, "Aithusa is very tame, really. Aren't you, girl? I'm sorry she startled you so. She's still leaning the right way to make friends."

"I imagine that's quite a task when you're the size of a building," Gaius replied, momentarily forgiving Merlin his faults.

"It really is," Merlin sighed. He looked at the dragon, but really he was staring past her, into something else intangible and unattainable.

OIOIOIOIOIO

Guinevere reclined in the big wooden chair that sat at the head of the table in her chambers, taking a moment to cast off her queenly pall and recall simpler days of slouching and speaking out of turn. She missed those younger days, so full of life and happiness and the company of good friends. Being a queen was not what she would have wished for, though it did suit her well. She was a good queen. But she had been a good servant once, too.

Gwen was startled from her thoughts by a hard tug on the skirt of her gown.

"Mum!" George called, paying no mind to Guinevere's absent stare.

"Yes, darling?" she said, waking herself from her stupor. She lifted the boy onto her lap with a quiet grunt. At nearly eight years old, was getting a bit heavy for her standards.

"If Merlin is your friend, why have I never met him before?" George asked.

"He lived a very long way away, and did not travel much until now."

"But," George continued, "You've never talked about him. I mean, if I had a friend who was a sorcerer, I'd tell everyone!"

"You must understand, George," Gwen said softly, "Not everyone is kind to sorcerers. Once they were not welcome in Camelot."

"Back when dad was the king?"

Guinevere shifted her weight to disguise her discomfort. "Yes, sorcery was outlawed when your father ruled Camelot. But he was a good man, and made many attempts to make peace with the druids and treat sorcerers fairly."

"And he had a magic servant."

"Your father didn't know Merlin had magic. But if he had known, I'm sure they would have still been friends."

"How can you know?" George asked.

"Because I'm your mother and I know."


	6. The Foolish Knight

In the courtyard, passersby were stopping dumb in their tracks to gawk in awe or fear at the large, pale rear of the dragon whose head was tucked so gingerly in the castle window. Occasionally, on some command or tenor of voice, the great creature's tail would swing carelessly from side to side, threatening to send any unfortunate soul standing too near flying into the castle wall.

"Galahad, would you look at that!" Young Tristan said, pushing a tuft of his bright hair away from his face. "That dragon is wagging its tail!"

Galahad let out a disgruntled sigh. "It's not a dog, Tristan, it's a beast."

"Dogs are beasts, in a manner of speaking."

"Don't start with me," Galahad huffed. "This day has been bad enough without your mindless chatter." The knight turned to walk away, but halted when out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of his companion drawing nearer to the creature.

Tristan approached the dragon with the mock caution of a child, dancing closer with exaggeratedly slow steps until he was within arm's reach of the great creature's tail.

"What are you doing?" Galahad asked, his voice turning deep and gravely as if to admonish Tristan's petulance.

"I'm going to pet her," Tristan said. He slowly reached out a hand.

"You fool…" Galahad groaned. Before he could croak out another word, Tristan gave the dragon's hind a great scratch, to which she responded with a gleeful wag of her great tail. Tristan toppled over, gracelessly collapsing onto the cobbled ground. He let out a hearty laugh, and continued laughing, until he realized he was pinned by the massive white tail.

"Sir Galahad," Tristan implored, still on the verge of breaking into another wild bout of laughter, "If you would please get this dragon's tail off of me…"

"Oh, now you ask for help."

Without much thought, Galahad approached the beast's tail. He stared at it for a moment, assessing the best way to move the thing without finding himself in the same predicament. After a pause, he squatted down and attempted to take the scaly tail in his arms and lift it outright, but it was heavy and quite unwilling to budge.

"Pet her," Tristan prompted.

"No. I'll not be pinned down like you."

"Please," the young knight implored, "I rather feel like I'm being crushed down here."

Galahad glanced at Tristan's face and noted it was contorted into something between a grimace and a smile. Had he not known his friend so well, he might have misinterpreted the look as something of mockery. However, as he had seen the daft young man caught in many follies, he knew the strange look to be that of someone who is perpetually optimistic despite being in a great deal of pain.

Galahad sighed again. With a reluctant movement, he reached up and scratched the creature's hind. The dragon shifted, but its weighty tail lay dormant on top of Tristan.

"Scratch harder!"

Galahad, who was growing impatient, drew his sword and moved a half step back. It took Tristan a moment to realize his intentions, and before anything could be done to stop it, Galahad gave a quick, half-strength jab to the dragon's tail.

Aithusa let out a yelp of pain, lifting her tail just long enough for Tristan to roll out of the way before it came back down with such force that it cracked the stone beneath it.

"Now look what you've done!" Galahad shouted.

"Me?" Tristan moaned in return. "You needn't stab her!"

"Would you prefer to be trapped there?"

Upstairs, Merlin ducked just in time to dodge a small ball of fire that Aithusa had inadvertently spit out. He charged towards the window and peered down at the knights bickering below. When he saw the small wound on Aithusa's tail he nearly exploded with anger, but thought better of it and collected himself. The wound was, after all, barely noticeable – a mere nick on the dragon's tough exterior. He would not throw a proper fit over that, but he was certain they deserved a stern talking to.

"Gaius, I must go deal with something," Merlin said.

The old man stared at the great dark spot on the opposing wall where the dragon's breath had singed the stone. "I'd say you do."

Merlin stormed down the winding staircase, paying no heed to the man whom he passed there. In fact, no one paid any mind to the stalky, dirty-faced man who had been wandering the citadel for the past hour or so, though he was a stranger to Camelot and had an unusually unkind look about him.

The man peered after Merlin, his stark brown eyes betraying some sinister purpose. When Merlin had gone, the man continued up the stairs, shoulders hunched beneath a ratty brown cloak.

At the top of the stairwell he looked about him, seeing a servant at the far end of the hall. Purposefully, he made his way toward the servant, his uneven gait causing him to stumble now and again. The servant passed him going the opposite way, hardly casting a glance in direction.

With some ceremony the man stopped in front of a large wooden door. He pressed one ear to the wood, attempting to make out the soft voices from within. Once his suspicions were confirmed, he whispered something beneath his breath, and then gingerly pushed the door open.

Inside the room, George still sat on his mother's lap. Neither noticed the man in the doorway, until he ventured a few steps inward and the unnatural sound of his movement attracted Guinevere's attention. She looked up, and recognized that there was someone there, but seemed to stare right though the man, as if he was some indistinct person whom she passed every day.

"Can I help you?" Guinevere asked, forgetting to be upset that a stranger had intruded on her in her private chambers.

The man stepped forward again. His face contorted into a great grimace.

He pulled a dagger from beneath his cloak.


	7. The Intruder in the Chamber

"You wanted to pet her?" Merlin asked through gritted teeth. "She's a dragon, not a puppy."

"That's what I was trying to te—" Galahad began. He stopped at the sight of Merlin's knit eyebrows and horrific scowl.

A long, cold, pause permeated the air until the silence was suddenly broken by a somewhat distant shrill scream. Merlin looked skyward, following the noise up the castle wall to an ornate window. Both the knights followed his gaze, but seemed to lack his dawning recognition that something had gone awry. "Gwen…" Merlin whispered under his breath, and he broke into a full sprint.

Despite Merlin being some years older than when he was last in Camelot, he still moved like he was as young as ever. He practically flew up the winding stone steps, not missing a single one in his haste. When he reached the top, he turned habitually, towards the royal chambers at the far end of the hall and threw the whole weight of his body into the great wooden door, which gave way with an arduous groan.

In the chambers, the dirty-faced man and Gwen were tangled in a struggle. The cape had fallen from his head revealing an unkempt mop of long, dark hair. He had one hand wrapped around Gwen's wrist, the other gripped the long-bladed dagger and was raised purposely above Guinevere's head. It might have already plunged, but for the firm grasp Gwen had on the man's forearm, keeping it suspended and quivering above her head.

Merlin glanced from the man to Gwen rapidly, and then without a word he thrust his hand forward in anger. His eyes began to glow their usual shimmering gold, but held the slightest tint of red. Merlin wrapped his hand into a fist, and the man's eyes began to bulge. His grip on Gwen lessened, and he stumbled back, letting the dagger clattered to the floor. He groped at his throat, recognition dawning in his dark eyes. He turned to Merlin, still chocking, sputtering, and took one lop-sided step towards the sorcerer. Now that Guinevere was free from the man's grasp, Merlin sent him flying backwards with a few words mumbled under his breath. The man flew gracefully into the shelves on the far side of the room, scattering trinkets and books all over the floor.

Gwen let out a half-strangled sigh of relief.

Merlin, realizing he'd forgotten to breathe, let out a few discordant breaths, and began to slowly approach the lump of a man on the ground. "Gwen, are you okay?" he asked, without casting the slightest glance in her direction.

She examined a small cut on her arm, and then pulled a piece of red satin over it to disguise the little pool of blood that was spreading across her sleeve. "I'm fine," she assured. "Is he dead?"

Merlin stopped just over the man and nudged him gently with his foot. When the thing on the ground did not move, Merlin stopped down and rested his fingers on the man's neck. He waited – nothing.

"Yes," Merlin said solemnly. Merlin gingerly turned the man's head to get a better look at his face. It was disguised with dirt, but Merlin realized it was actually quite a beautiful face. Angular cheekbones, clear, almost green eyes – it was not unlike his own. It was only then that Merlin noticed the small tri-spiral tattooed on the man's neck. "He was a druid," Merlin mumbled, half in disbelief."

"George, don't look," Gwen suddenly shouted. Merlin turned around, catching the sight of the small boy peering out from behind his mother's billowing skirt. The boy crept a step forward, enticed by the rare sight of death. It occurred to Merlin that he had been there the whole time, and it was entirely possible that he was the intended target of the attack, and not the Queen.

The boy crept out further, and when he was standing in front of Gwen she caught him by the shoulder and wrapped a gentle arm around him.

"Listen to your mother," Merlin advised, "You will see plenty of stuff like this when you are older."

At once, young Tristan and gloomy Galahad stormed into the open doorway of the chamber. "My lady, is everything alright?" Galahad asked, knowing full well that the battle had already been fought.

"Took you long enough," Merlin grumbled before Gwen could work out a response. There was a tinge of anger growing in his voice, and it seemed clear to the Queen that it would overtake all of the Sorcerer's words soon enough.

Merlin stood and turned on his heels to face the men in the doorway. "And you call yourselves Knights of Camelot? Fat lot of good you do! Someone should take away your swords. As a matter of fact –" Merlin raised his trembling hand, ready to unleash some matter of hell on the pair, but stopped at the sound of Gwen's cool voice.

"Merlin." She said, and it was an admonishment. He lowered his hand, and dropped his head. "Tristan, take George to the nurse."

The young Knight stepped forward, shook of the fear that clung to his face and replaced with his usual happy expression. "Come along, Young Lord Prince," he said, and offered a hand to George. George took it reluctantly, and was dragged away by the happy-go-lucky knight.

"Galahad," Gwen continued, "Find an extra pair of hands and get this body out of my chambers. Take it to Gaius for an examination."

"Yes, my lady," Galahad said cautiously.

"Gwen…" Merlin muttered when they were alone in the room.

"Thank you Merlin, for saving myself and George." She replied shortly.

Merlin shook his head at nothing in particular. "I shouldn't have let him in here, Gwen. I should have been paying better attention."

"Merlin," Gwen said, softer now. "You're not perfect…"

"I know that. I know. But I should be better than this. I'm sorry, Gwen."

The Queen took a few soft steps towards her old friend. She rested her hand on Merlin's shoulder, but he refused to meet her eye. "You did a good job. Neither George nor I was harmed, that's all that matters. Besides, you've been away a long time. You've got to get used to all this again…"

While Merlin was avoiding Gwen's eye, he caught sight of the blood stain working its way through the red satin cover on her arm. A tear boiled up in Merlin's eye. "You're hurt, Gwen."

She glanced at her arm. "'Tis only a small cut."

Merlin nodded, swallowing his self-loathing. He forced himself to smile, and beneath his scraggly beard it was hard to tell if the gesture was genuine. "Let me fix it for you."

"I'm sure Gaius can bind it."

"That's not what I meant," Merlin said, he gently placed one hand on either side of Guinevere's arm, and whispered, "Aslite." Gwen looked in disbelief at the spot on her forearm where the cut had been – the blood stain remained, but the cut itself was entirely gone.


	8. The Relic on the Shelf

The sudden knock at Giaus's door caused him to jump a bit, and spill just the slightest amount of the potion he'd been mixing. With a heavy sigh, he shouted, "Come in!" and stooped slowly to clean the mess.

By the time he'd straightened himself back up, Sir Galahad and Sir Leon were dumping a corpse on the only clear table in his chambers.

"Ah, Sir Leon," Giaus said, slowly raising one striking eyebrow. "You've brought me a body…You do know that's where I eat breakfast?"

"This man came into the Queen's chambers this afternoon and attempted to kill her," Leon explained.

"Very good job he didn't," Gaius replied solemnly. He made his way to the heap of a human lying on his table and began to poke and prod at the thing, taking his time so as not to miss any fine detail. He ran his hand slowly across the dead man's back, noting some soft spots along the spine. Gaius's face contorted in a bizarre expression of focus, his tongue resting awkwardly against his bottom lip as he squinted. He pulled the dead man's tunic up, and took note of the damage to his back.

"It seems he died from being thrown into something. See the beginnings of bruising there?" Gaius pointed to the man's spine.

"Merlin threw him into a bookshelf," Leon muttered, a hint of laughter sneaking into his voice. He had always been fond of the bumbling young Merlin he'd known, and he couldn't help but be amused by the image of that same young Merlin wielding a power greater than the world had ever seen.

"Well that explains it," Gaius said.

"What else can you tell us about him?" Galahad asked quietly.

Gaius's eyes alighted on the tattoo on the man's neck. "I believe I can tell quite a bit."

OIOIOIOIOIO

Merlin gathered stray books and metal vases and the like in his arms, stumbling a little as he did. "Please," Gwen implored, "One of my girls can clean it up later. There's no need, Merlin."

He dropped a metal vase, and the clatter felt like a shock of thunder. He let out a heavy sigh. "Gwen, just let me do what I'm good at."

"This was never what you were good at, Merlin." Gwen said, and her lip turned up into a charming half smile.

Merlin grabbed another book, flipped it right-side up, then upside-down again, and shoved it randomly onto a shelf. "You're starting to sound like Ar—" Merlin stopped and took a long moment to stare at his own boots before silently resuming his haphazard work.

"You can say his name, you know," Gwen said quietly. "I can stand to hear it."

"I can't." Merlin said. "I can't say his name when he's not here." The sorcerer gently unloaded all of the spoils he'd collected back onto the shelf, and gracelessly went after the next object on the floor. He paused when he realized what it was, his hand hoovering in mid-air, as if the thing was too precious to touch.

Seeing Merlin's sudden hesitation, Gwen asked, "What is it?"

There lay the Horn of Cathbhadh, still as flawless as the day Merlin first laid eyes on it. It seemed to gleam with an unnatural shine, the spark of magic that lay within it. He recalled, ever so briefly, the night it had been gifted to Arthur by a dying woman he had saved form the stake – and he saw again the look in her eyes as she faded away, and then remembered how that same look has passed over Arthur's face a few days after Camlan – he pushed these thoughts from his mind, stuttering out only a prolonged, "Uh," in response to Guinevere. Then, "Nothing, it's nothing. It's just something that reminds me of an adventure I had once with…"

Gwen studied her friend's tired face and the spark of hope that was finally dawning upon it. "It means nothing to me," she said. "If you want it, Merlin, you may keep it."

Merlin's lip twitched into the hint of a smile as his fingertips brushed the smooth ivory of the horn. "Are you certain?" he asked.

"On the condition you stop your skulking," Gwen said, "Yes."

Merlin felt a little devious as he took the horn in his hand, for there was a plan growing in his mind – a wild, terrible, fantastic plan that he absolutely could not resist. Gaius, of course, would not approve, but how was he to stop Merlin once his choice was made?

"Thank you Gwen," Merlin said, hoping his voice did not betray him.

"I can see it makes you happy," Guinevere said. "You should be happy, you know…"

Merlin nodded absently. He had stopped listening the moment he felt a lecture coming on. His mind was instead wandering through days of old, to a particular journey he took long ago.

OIOIOIOIOIO

Gaius hardly looked up from his work when Merlin wandered into the room. "I see you saved the Queen today," the old man said.

Merlin glanced at the body which still lay on the table. It had been covered reverently with a grimy bedsheet, and now seemed even more out of place than it had before. "Why's he still here?"

Gaius feigned looking over his shoulder. "I can't very well move him on my own, and the Knights are training.

"They better train really hard," Merlin grumbled, "They nearly let a man kill their Queen."

"Good thing you were there," Gaius said, "Or young George might have had to put on his crown a bit early."

Merlin leaned against the table opposite the corpse and took to examining his boots again. "Gaius, I nearly wasn't there. I should've seen that attack coming. I even passed that man on the stairs."

"I think there was a reason you didn't take note of him, Merlin." Gaius turned toward the sorcerer and held up a rounded blue pendant on a piece of string. "I found this around the man's neck. I believe it to be a charm that confuses the senses and makes one harder to perceive."

"It's magic?" Merlin asked.

"I can't believe after all these years you still need to ask," Gaius grumbled. "Did you notice he was a druid?"

"Yes," Merlin said, "But I thought Guinevere solidified the peace with the druids. Besides, they were never a violent people to begin with, except when Uther drove them to do terrible things."

"They are peaceful, yes. But it appears the symbol on this man's neck is homemade. I believe him to be a self-proclaimed druid, not someone born into the order."

"Does that happen?" Merlin asked.

"I've never heard of it."

"No," Merlin sighed, "Neither have I."


	9. The Monster Hunter

The sun had just set over Camelot, leaving the sky holding onto the final eerie purple glow. Most of the people were already shut up in their little houses, stoking their stoves to keep of the oncoming chill. The guards kept watch at the gate of the citadel and in the dungeon below, and all was quiet for a moment.

Merlin and Gaius were each lost in a silent contemplation – Gaius as to the mystery of the self-made Druid, and Merlin in plotting his fantastic plan.

As the last light drained out the sky, Merlin let out a heavy sigh and turned towards the back room of Gaius's chambers. The old man cast him an odd look, but Merlin, still entangled in this own endeavors, failed to notice it.

"Are you really going to sleep in there?" Gaius asked.

Merlin glanced to Gaius and then back to the too-low doorway which led to the small anti-chamber. "Where else would I sleep? I've always slept there."

"I'm sure if you ask Guinevere she'll give you a whole room of your own."

"What's wrong with that room?"

Gaius raised an eyebrow, recalling the countless times a younger Merlin had sleepily slammed his head into the top of the doorway, or tripped down or up the single step into the workshop, or rolled his way right out of the undersized cot and onto the floor. Knowing that Merlin would discount all of these obvious reasons for moving, he simply said, "Don't you think you're getting a little old for it?"

"Gaius, you're the one who's getting old," Merlin replied, and took another bold step towards the small chamber.

"At least I haven't got a mop on my face," Gaius muttered.

Merlin stopped. "Are you commenting on my beard?"

"I'm just saying, you'd look younger without it."

"Gaius, I…I'm not…" With a fantastic eye roll, which was as good as a concession that he'd been beat, Merlin closed his mouth. The pair stared one another down for a long moment, and then Merlin stomped indignantly towards the bedroom. He was, however, still glowering at Gaius, and managed to forget to duck for the door way. His head hit the stone wall with a disconcerting whack, and he stuttered out a great, "OW!"

In the process of this, Merlin fell back half a step. He managed to catch himself, but he dislodged the horn which had been so clumsily tucked into the back of his pants and hidden beneath his cloak. The sound of the ivory against the cobbled floor was a nice compliment to that of Merlin's head and the wall, and the whole scene played out in a perfect symphony of disarray.

Gaius eyed the horn with suspicion. "Merlin, what have you got there?"

"It's –" Merlin attempted, but he was still busy reeling from the shock of his collision. With his hand pressed heartily against his sore forehead, he looked all the more the fool.

"Alright, I know very well what it is. Perhaps I should rephrase – why do you have it?"

"Guinevere gave it to me," Merlin said, collecting himself. His head was still properly throbbing, but he was more or less used to running into things. He plucked the horn from the ground, and held it gingerly in his hands.

"I see," Gaius said. His eyebrow raised to unprecedented heights. "You know, it is very nearly the equinox."

"Really?" Merlin said, as innocently as he could manage. "I hadn't noticed."

"You hadn't noticed?"

Merlin shook his head. His long hair and scraggly beard echoed the motion, making him into a great blur.

"You have a horn that can open the veil on the equinox, and you hadn't noticed? Merlin, you're as terrible a liar as ever."

Merlin let out a feeble breath of air. "Gaius, I know what you're going to say, but it's entirely safe. I know what went wrong last time, so –"

"Last time Uther's ghost was terrorizing the castle! He nearly burnt Guinevere to death, and injured several knights, if you recall."

"This time it'll be different," Merlin insisted, squaring up. He towered over Gaius, who seemed to be shrinking with age. "He will be different. He is not his father's son."

Gaius opened his mouth then clamped it shut again. He wondered how true Merlin's claim was, but he would not dare speak out against the person Merlin loved most – especially since Gaius had loved him, too. "All I'll say is I think it's a bad idea."

"I knew you would say that," Merlin muttered. "But you understand I've got to do it, don't you?"

Gaius bowed his head, thinking for a long moment. "Yes, Merlin, I do."

A soft knock at the door interrupted what would have been a long, deliberate silence. Without waiting for permission, Sir Tristan stuck his head partially in the door. The wide smile was back on his freckled face, and his red locks seemed to bounce up and down though he stood perfectly still. "Hello, Gaius! Hello Sir Sorcerer!"

"Tristan," Merlin said soberly, "I'm sorry for earlier."

"Oh, no worries, Sorcerer Merlin. I'll say you did scare me for a moment there, the whole glowing eyes and hand raised thing – yes that was fantastic! But no hard feelings. We ought to have been faster, and I'm sorry about your dragon…"

"Sir Tristan," Gaius interrupted, "Have you come for something?"

"Oh yes," he said, "Our young Prince George would feel more comfortable going to bed tonight if Merlin would first check the room for any monsters or nefarious types and expel such things."

A small smile came to Merlin's lips, though he tried to resist it. He turned to Gaius and said, "Off to do my duty as court sorcerer." He tucked the horn back into his cloak, and followed a half step behind the enthusiastic knight, who was already prattling on about something entirely unrelated.

OIOIOIOIOIO

"Is the room clear?" George said in the sort of official tone that comes off more cute than authoritative in a boy so young.

Merlin pressed his ear against the wardrobe for a second time and held up a finger as if to say wait, then with more grandeur than necessary he nodded. "All clear, Sire – though I confess, you may have woodworm."

"What's woodworm?" the boy asked.

Merlin paused for a second, "Can't say that I actually know."

George let out a tremendous laugh, and Merlin smiled. Finally- someone who appreciated his antics. It was fun for Merlin to again play the utter fool, to joke and gab and have it so easily accepted. He'd forgotten what this felt like in those years he spent alone. Now, rejuvenated by the sheer joy of it all, he felt his confidence returning. Of course, knocking on the cabinets and looking on the floor were all just for show – he'd already felt the room, fallowed it out for all the emptiness it was, and had determined there was no threat there.

"Thank you, Merlin," George said, still toying with that kingly tone, "You are dismissed."

"Thank you?" Merlin said, "You're already doing better at this than your dad."

The little boy smiled again, and in the gesture, Merlin saw Arthur, and suddenly the hole in his chest was as big and as empty as ever. Never mind that, he thought, there's work to be done – and he forced himself to keep that air of jubilation he'd dawned.

Neither George nor Merlin had noticed Gwen enter the room, and perhaps neither would have noticed her presence thereafter, except that she said softly, "Now George, is that all better?"

"Yes, mum," he said, "I can go to sleep now. Or…"

"No ors, if, or buts. Get you to bed."

The boy bit his lip a moment, and then pattered off to the oversized canopy bed in the center of the room.

"Thank you, Merlin," Gwen said softly.

"It was no problem." He said, "He will be safe tonight."

The Queen smiled, and Merlin had sense he was meant to leave. He had an opportunity, though, and he wasn't about to waste it. "Gwen, may I speak to you about something?"

Guinevere raised her brow in a moment of concern.

"It's nothing too serious, I assure."

She let a little puff of air out. "Of course, Merlin. I'm just going to finish tucking George in, and then we can speak in the hall."

Merlin nodded. He turned towards the large canopy bed, and proclaimed, "Goodnight, Sire!" to which George responded with a vigorous, "Goodnight, Merlin!"

The Sorcerer then went out to the hall, where he waited impatiently – stepping two feet this way, then two back that way. When Gwen appeared several minutes later, Merlin was nearly ready to pop out of his skin.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

"You see, Gwen, I am still feeling rather guilty about this afternoon –"

"There's no need –"

"No, but, I should have been watching after you two better. Especially George. He shouldn't have had to see what he did. But I'd like to make it up to him by taking him on a trip for the equinox. Show him some magic."

"A trip?" Gwen said skeptically. Merlin realized he was no longer talking to the Gwen he knew, he was talking to a worried mother. He shifted his weight as she mulled over the idea. "He is quite fond of you. I suppose you and the knights –"

"I was thinking we might go just the two of us….as a…a bonding experience."

"I don't know, Merlin. It's a sweet idea, but you know I worry. He's still just a boy."

"I promise I'd look after him. Besides, there's no safer place for him than by my side."

Gwen smiled, and there was something warm about her eyes. "I do believe that, Merlin. If you promise to be very, very careful and be back within a day, you two may go."

Merlin returned Guinevere's smile wholeheartedly "Thank you, My Lady." He pivoted with a spring in his step – he knew he had what he wanted.

"And Merlin…"

He hesitated. "Yes?"

"Perhaps you should move into the chamber across the hall from George's and mine. It's a grand room, and one of my girls just cleaned it out. That way you'll be closer if we need you."

Merlin's face contorted. "Has Gaius put you up to this?"

"No," Gwen said, genuinely taken aback, "Why do you ask?"

"No reason."


	10. The Hours in Between

Merlin hoovered in the center of the big room. The walls were made of a dark grey stone, with a few deeply-colored tapestries draped here and there. The floor was slate, and though a rug had been cast over it to relieve the chill, Merlin couldn't help but compare the compartment to the cave he'd called a home for the past eight years – it was dark (though, admittedly, that may have been more due to the lateness of the hour than to its natural ambiance) and it felt terribly cold.

Perhaps this should have been comforting, since it bore such a resemblance to a place he'd known very well, but it was not. It felt wrong – maybe because this was Camelot, and Merlin had only ever known the life of a servant here. Or maybe because Gaius's chambers, even on the coldest night when hope seemed the furthest away, had never felt empty like this monstrous room.

Merlin shifted his weight, and he thought he could hear the movement. A shiver seized him, and he seriously considered running back to Gaius and crying out his complaint of this foreign room and all of its hollowness. But that would be rude, wouldn't it? Gwen had done Merlin a great kindness when she gifted him the chamber, which, to be fair was a very luxurious one near to her own. The sorcerer knew he should be grateful, and moreover he knew he must be an adult about this change and accept it. Crying was for little boys.

With some reserve, Merlin crossed the room to the large bed which sat in the center of the back wall. His steps echoed, or he thought they did, and it suddenly occurred to him that this is what it felt to be royal – there was such a magnificent loneliness to it. Merlin's heart broke a little for Gwen, who he knew had to bear this burden and bear it alone. And she, not born into a world of large, lonely chambers, must share in Merlin's discomfort.

He sat on the bed, bouncing up and down on it a bit. The sheets were made of silk – Merlin recognized them as a repurposed set that had once belonged to his prince. This struck something in the sorcerer, and he lay down without thinking, feeling the cool smoothness against his skin. How many times had he pulled that silk cover over a bed? Washed it? Folded it? But he'd never, ever slept beneath something so luxurious. The bed was larger than any he'd ever known – indeed in his childhood in Ealdor he'd slept on a mat on the floor – and the mattress was stuffed with feathers instead of coarse hay.

Merlin kicked off his boots, letting them fall to the floor unceremoniously. Without undressing any further, he curled beneath the silk cover and closed his eyes, feeling a bizarre comfort that was not directly attached to the luxury of it all. He drifted to sleep rather unexpectedly. The last muddled, groggy thought that passed through his mind – one which even would have surprised him had he not been so far removed from himself – was that this must be just how Arthur felt every night.

OIOIOIOIOIO

In the forest, right beyond the boarder of Camelot, four figures stalked into a circle beneath the moonlight. Their capes, varying shades of greens and blacks, made them into mere ghosts in the quiet of the night. As a light mist began to fall, the four figures exchanged glances – sharing in one, damning thought: where was their fifth?

OIOIOIOIOIO

"How did you sleep last night?" Gwen asked.

Merlin blinked a few times, sleep still set in his eyes.

"Good, I hope?"

"Yes," Merlin said, rousing himself. "I've never slept so well in my whole life, actually. Thank you, Gwen."

"It's a pleasure, Merlin. You deserve it."

"Well," he looked about him, suddenly feeling the need to cast his gaze anywhere but his friend's eye, "I wouldn't say that."

Gwen let out a little sigh, but spared Merlin any further argument. He knew, of course, exactly what she would say, and she knew how he'd respond. There was really no need for the talk at all, for each could let it play out in their own head with startling accuracy. At length they each smiled at one another, until Gwen saw fit to move away.

Merlin watched her go with some trepidation, realizing in slow steps that he had no idea what he was meant to do with himself for the day. The equinox was tomorrow, and all other things already being prepared his plan was set on hold – what then for the hours that passed in between? Before Merlin had always been kept busy by…

"Gwen," Merlin called.

She turned, recognizing the strained urgency in his voice. Her eyebrows knit and he lips parted just the slightest as she peered back at him from the end of the corridor. "What is it, Merlin?"

The sorcerer suddenly felt silly and regretted his impulse. "I…" he looked about him searching for something clever to say. When no playful words or charming lie came to him, he figured he might as well be out with the truth. "What shall I do today?" The words came out staccato. "Is there anything you need done?"

"Oh," Gwen muttered. It was a small sound, and from it Merlin discerned that the Queen didn't quite have an answer.

"I could…polish something?"

Gwen's face contorted further. "Merlin, you hate polishing."

The sorcerer stretched his toes, raising himself up on the balls of his feet and then falling back to his heels. Gwen recognized the motion as something George sometimes did in moments of impatience, and her heart melted for Merlin. She strode back over to him and then settled into deep thought.

"You could…go for a shave?" Gwen suggested.

"Is the beard really that bad?" Merlin grumbled.

"Do you…like…the beard?" Merlin tilted his head with the cadence of a confused puppy, and Gwen gave the best smile she could muster. "I know," she said at last, "You could help George with his studies."

"His studies?" Merlin said, dumbfounded.

"Yes. His numbers, his histories…"

"Oh." Merlin straightened himself up. "Yes, I could do that, couldn't I?"

Gwen touched Merlin's hand reassuringly, and then she was off to her Queenly duties.

OIOIOIOIOIO

The smell of tanned leather and ink filled the large hall where the Camelot library was housed. George tore through shelf after shelf, shouting like a banshee every now and again, causing the book keeper – who had been old even when Merlin was young – to jump up from his desk and wave his hands about like he was having some sort of fit.

Merlin cast the ancient man an apologetic smile, and the book keeper squinted and leaned towards him. The man had never been fond of Merlin, and though the long, dark beard mostly hid Merlin's face, he had a suspicion that the book keeper was catching on as to who he was. Without waiting for a full realization, Merlin briskly went after George, who was at present making battle with a wooden carving of a beast.

"George," Merlin said. The boy continued to swing an invisible sword at the carving, making the appropriate battle noises as he slashed and parried.

"George." Merlin said again, calling up his most authoritative voice. The boy paused, then made one finally, apparently mortal blow at the wooden beast and declared he'd vanquished it before he turned his full attention to his new teacher. "What have you been learning recently?"

The boy twitched his nose and looked out into the empty space between shelves, as if looking for something that wasn't there. "I don't know," he finally determined.

"You don't know?"

George shook his head decisively.

"Okay," Merlin said, searching for some resolve. "I guess I can work with that."

In the interval that followed, George begun pulling massive, ornate books off the shelf, looking at the covers and replacing them. Merlin watched this for a moment, trying to establish some pattern as to what books the boy was choosing, but could determine no logical cause to his madness. He let out a sigh. Then: "Alright, George, what do you _want_ to learn?"

The boy hefted his most recent selection back onto the shelf and then paused. "I want to learn magic!" he said.

Merlin sucked in a haggard breath of air and felt his mouth fall open a bit. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but that certainly was the furthest thing from it.

"I don't know how your mum would feel about that," Merlin said at last.

"Why? Magic is amazing!"

"Right," Merlin said, feeling a little proud, "It is. But, it's dangerous too, and a very big responsibility. Many people have used magic for the wrong reasons, George, which is why it was outlawed for such a long time."

"Yeah," George said, kicking at the air, "I know granddad outlawed magic, but he was wrong, wasn't he?"

"Well…" Merlin stuttered. He had his own opinions about Uther and magic, but there was the old, familiar fear to which Merlin still clung – who was he, a simple servant, to tell a prince the story of his past, especially when there were so many reasons to be biased? The sorcerer looked around the room, as if the answer to all of his dilemmas could be found among the dust or old pages. At last he said, "George, how is your history?"

The boy smiled. "I know Camelot's first King was Bruta, who united all the five kingdoms in peace and…" he paused, his eyes wandering upward as he waited for the rest of the story to surface in his young, distracted mind. "…and when Bruta was on his death bed, he ordered his servants to take him out into the forest and he took his very own sword and with the last of his life cast it into a rock, where it stayed for years and years and years until my da – the rightful king – pulled it back out again."

The little boy's soft brown eyes sparkled with pride. Merlin's lips parted, but he felt his breath caught in the back of his throat. He shut his mouth, looked at the ground, and then with a knowing smile said, "That's right. Very good."


	11. The Face in the Mirror

Aithusa let out a little huff of hot air, barely steam, as she attempted to gingerly dislodge the child hanging onto her snout. She was drawing particular attention as she squatted in the courtyard of the citadel near her master, because today in addition to being a dragon in Camelot, which was a strange enough sight, she was a dragon in Camelot with a prince tugging at her nose.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a dragon sooner?!" George shouted, letting out a burst of laughter as Aithusa straightened up and made a low, soft sound – not a growl exactly, something friendlier and more familiar. "Is she coming with us on our trip?"

Merlin cast a glance over his shoulder at the boy, dwarfed in the beast's great shadow. To think, a Pendragon laughing and stroking a dragon instead of trying to destroy it – it warmed Merlin's heart, but also solidified in him the feeling of complete and utter change. "She can come if she wants," Merlin said, drawing his attention back to saddle he was fitting onto a strong, young mare.

"Can I ride her?" George asked, attempting within the same breath to mount the great serpent's back.

"I think that's a bad idea," Merlin said in reply, paying no attention to the young boy. The dragon attempted to squirm out of his grasp without causing him any damage. When the boy persisted, Aithusa spat forth a fireball, small and pointed away from all the people, which sufficiently distracted George form his task.

Merlin let out a sigh as he finished securing the supply bag to his mare's side. It would be a short journey, less than half a day in each direction. With any luck they would reach the great stone circle just after mid-day, and be back in Camelot by nightfall. And if all went right, Merlin would get to –

"Merlin!" The sorcerer turned about, startled by the shrill tone in his Queen's voice.

Guinevere stared at him with a look of complete and utter confusion. Hadn't she agreed to this trip a few days ago? Merlin looked her up and down, and realized there was no anger in her expression – her eyebrows half raised, eyes a little widened – she was surprised.

"Yes, Gwen?"

"You shaved," she said.

Merlin straightened up a bit and glanced at his warped reflection in the recently-shinned saddle stirrup. What he saw looking back surprised him too, and not because it was murky and steel-colored. Still, he feigned ignorance.

"Don't seem so surprised, Gwen. No one liked the beard. You told me yourself."

"I…well." Her mouth hung open and then fell shut. She studied Merlin's face the way a craftsperson looks at the work of their betters. "Merlin, you don't look a day older than when I last saw you."

The sorcerer tried not to blush, rather unsuccessfully. He wasn't sure why he was so embarrassed, but he felt that his perfectly youthful face was a sort of offense. Not that Gwen had aged badly – but lines creased her forehead and began to billow out under her eyes. In the right light Merlin was sure he'd catch little shimmers of grey tucked into her dark, curly locks. She was older, as she should be since eight long-suffering years had passed.

Without the beard Merlin might have walked right out Camlan the day before. He had stared at himself in the dusty mirror in his new chambers for nearly an hour after he'd removed the scraggly, piteous beard, marveling at the wonder of his own face.

He shifted his weight. Tried to smile. "Gwen, I don't know what you're talking about."

She could hear the lie in his voice, and everything about her expression said as much. "And the jacket?" she said, nodding at the ratty brown coat Merlin had dawned in place of the burgundy cloak he'd been wearing. "Is that the same one you had all those years ago?"

"No," Merlin said, almost defensively. "It's a new one."

"It looks just like the old."

"I'll admit it's _similar_ …"

Gwen suddenly let out a laugh. She stifled it, raising a hand to her mouth to remind herself to behave like a queen. "Stay right there," she said, and strode off towards the castle. Merlin stared after her, smiling despite himself. Behind him, George fell into a fit of laughter as Aithusa licked his soft cheek with her rough dragon tongue.

Gwen returned promptly, holding something playfully behind her back. She suddenly seemed ageless too, Merlin thought – good old Gwen the serving girl, always out to make a friend smile. She paused a moment then revealed her prize: a blue scrap of fabric. Merlin stared at it, uncertainty playing at his thoughts.

"Indulge me," Gwen implored.

Merlin hung his head for a moment, and Gwen feared she had upset her friend. After a beat, however, he looked up and his eyes were wide with laughter. "For you, Gwen, of course."

He took the scrap of fabric and pulled it loosely around his neck, twisting the ends of the fabric round until it appeared to be a seamless scarf. When he had finished, he took a step back and put his arms out, as if to model the improved outfit. "What do you think?"

"Perfect, Merlin. You look like you again."

The pair shared a rare moment of unabashed happiness as they laughed at nothing in particular and took in the atmosphere of the citadel. For a moment they were young again, living in a time before they knew sadness.

A pause. George ran up to his mother, taking her skirt in fistfuls. Aithusa lumbered up after him, making some inarticulate dragon noises which Merlin knew to be happy sounds.

"Mum! Did you know Merlin had a dragon? Isn't she great?"

Gwen let out a motherly sigh, eyeing the great lizard with suspicion. "Yes, she's very nice, isn't she, George?"

The little boy let go of Gwen's skirts and leaped towards the dragon's snout, she took evasive maneuvers, stretching her neck up so that the child couldn't reach. Gwen cast a worried look to Merlin. He smiled back, arms folded casually across his chest. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"Oh," Merlin said, "Aithusa wouldn't hurt a fly. She's great with kids."

"Tell me, had she ever seen a kid before George?"

Merlin's lips puckered the slightest, "Well, no…"

"Please just be careful," Gwen said.

Merlin tore his eyes away from Gwen's pleading stare. He knew what she was saying – she couldn't bear to loose anyone else. His gaze alighted on George, who had finally gotten ahold of Aithusa.

When the little boy smiled he looked like his father.


	12. The Memory of the Man

**Author's Note:** Thanks to those of you who have stuck with me this far. I know I'm rubbish at publishing regularly and the chapters are short, but I've really been enjoying hearing everyone's feedback. I feel like I'm finally getting where I've been trying to go with this. Oh – and Happy Equinox!

IOIOIOIOIOI

They must have been a strange sight to behold – the little prince on his little horse, riding just in tow of his adult servant and his massive mare, and the great white dragon who lumbered after them carelessly as they traversed the open countryside.

"Meerrrrlin," George said. On the first leg of the trip he had adopted this new pronunciation of his servant's name, drawing out the _er_ unbearably to make the name sound like some botched spell.

"Yes, sire?" Merlin asked. They'd been riding for about two hours, and the little boy was growing impatient.

"Are we there yet?"

"No, my lord. We are not there yet."

"Will you tell me where we're going?"

Merlin tossed a glance back over his shoulder. The little boy bobbed up and down in the saddle every step the horse took. His nose was wrinkled up as if there was a foul smell in the air, but there was nothing there. "If I told you," Merlin said with a wink, "it wouldn't be a surprise."

"But you're going to do magic?" George asked hopefully.

"No, George. You are."

The little boy's face lit up. He clamped his mouth shut, lips upturned in a look of triumph. His cheeks were rosy. Merlin supposed children's cheeks were meant to be so – but still, it made him look a little more royal.

They rode in silence for a little while. The open expanse of field melded slowly into a thick forest, green and brimming with life. A chill hung in the air, announcing the onset of autumn. The sun dipped in and out of clouds, casting remarkably sharp shadows on the dirt below for a moment and then dissolving them into the mist. Soon the leaves would be golden, then the rain would come lashing and tearing at the land. So it was every year, on and on and on.

"Do you know what day it is, George?" Merlin asked.

The boy looked up, then he looked down. Finding nothing, he took a wild guess. "Is it your birthday?"

Merlin shook his head. "No."

"It's not my birthday either," George announced.

"Right…" Merlin said, "Well, Sire, when it is your birthday I promise I shall do some birthday magic for you. However, today…" Merlin glanced back to make sure George was still listening. To his surprise, Merlin had a rapt audience. "Today is the autumn equinox. The Druids call it _Mabon_. It is said to be a day for recollection and remembrance."

"So it's a memory day?" George asked.

Merlin thought for a moment. "Well, yes. I suppose it is."

The trees were slowly breaking into another stretch of grass. When they crested the rolling hill they were climbing, the great stone circle would be in view. Merlin absently patted the satchel at the side of the horse, checking in a strangely habitual way to make sure the horn of Cathbhadh was still tucked safely away. Merlin was falling into strange thoughts of what was to come, when he was stirred from his daydreaming by an unexpected question.

"Merlin," said the little boy, in a tone almost too serene to suit him, "What do you remember?"

Merlin blinked a few times, as if clearing sleep from his eyes. What did he remember? Whole loads of things – spells for setting fires and quenching them, the type of herb needed to prepare the best cough remedy, the name of the first horse he'd ever ridden (which, not so consequentially, was also the first horse he'd fallen off), and he remembered Kilgarrah's great wings and the intelligence in his huge golden eyes. He remembered the particular ashen quality Morgana's face used to take on when she'd woken from a bad dream in her chambers in the castle. He remembered his mother's smile – oh, he'd never forget that – and Gaius's occasional disapproving scowl.

So what did George expect him to say? His life was so full of vibrant memories, and suddenly they were crashing against his mind like uncontrollable waves of color and voice. He remembered it all. Every moment.

When the pause between question and answer had gone on too long, Merlin let out a sigh. George had urged his horse forward so that he now rode alongside Merlin – the way he and Arthur used to ride.

Arthur.

"I remember," Merlin said slowly, carefully. He suddenly felt he had to get the words just right. "I remember when I met your father for the first time. He was chucking spears at a target and tormenting a serving boy. I'd only just come to Camelot earlier that day. I walked from Ealdor, where I'd lived with my mother. I'd never been away from home before."

The young prince stared at Merlin, in a sort of trance-like focus.

"I insulted him. I didn't know he was the crowned Prince. I wasn't even from this kingdom. I even took a swing at him –" Merlin laughed. "He threw me in the dungeon and the next day he nearly killed me with a mace. But he was a good man, George. I knew that the moment I met him. I didn't like him, and he didn't like me, but I saw something in him that I see in you: greatness."

George smiled and straightened up, accepting his mantel of greatness without hesitation. When Merlin didn't continue, the boy leaned forward eagerly, big cat-eyes shining. "Tell me more! Mum never talks about dad!"

"He was…" Merlin searched his thoughts. "Once we were attacked by bandits in the forest. There were maybe twelve of us and forty of them. Your father fought three men at once, and won. He was the quickest sword in the land. Well, maybe second quickest depending who you ask…but, that's another story. We were in the middle of this fight, and I was trying to protect him with my magic without being seen. It was still illegal at the time, so I had to be subtle. I got so distracted trying not to be seen that a bandit came up behind me and ran his sword halfway through me. I'd never felt such pain in my life."

George leaned so far over that Merlin thought he might tumble off his saddle. They were at the top of the hill now, and a light rain had begun to fall. Merlin could see the stone circle rising through the mist like some ethereal thing. He drew in a half breath and continued his story.

"Well I figured I was done for. I didn't know as much about healing spells then as I do now, and even so I couldn't very well do one on myself because I couldn't think through the pain. The whole world was swirling and dark – and the next thing I knew your father had hoisted me up on to his back. He fought a bandit with one hand with me hanging over his shoulder. And then he carried me. Into the forest, away from danger."

Merlin was no longer looking where he was going. His mare stopped instinctively a ways away from the stone circle, as if she could sense the magic which pulsed through the site like a heartbeat. George looked up at Merlin with awe. He was young and innocent and had just discovered one of the great secrets of life, though he couldn't put to words what exactly it was.

"Your father was a great king, but he was an even better friend." A tear rolled down Merlin's cheek, but he was smiling. "Would you like to meet him?"

Merlin dismounted his mare and the little boy followed suit. Carefully, Merlin drew the sacred horn from its place in the satchel. He knelt down, so he could meet George at eye level. "This is the Horn of Cathbhadh. It is an ancient and sacred object endowed with magic by the High Priestesses of the Old Religion. It is said that every year on the equinox the Priestesses would gather here, at the stone circle, and blow the horn to be reunited with their ancestors." Merlin held the horn in both hands, his palms upturned. He presented it gently to his prince. "George, if you so wish, step into the circle and blow the horn, and think of your dad – everything I've just told you and everything you've ever sensed about him. If you think hard enough, he will be there."

The little boy held the horn gingerly, recognizing a great responsibility had been handed to him. Merlin offered an encouraging smile. George rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment, and shut his eyes so tight that it looked like he was trying to close out all the light from his world. Then he opened them back up, nodded, and walked into the circle.

Merlin followed slowly behind, hesitating on the edge of one of the great arches. It seemed wrong of him to cross into that space, one which he knew to be so sacred. Was stepping into the circle crossing a line? He hoovered there for a moment while George rested the horn against his lips. He turned it this way and that, and it occurred to Merlin that the little boy had probably never blown a horn before.

Forgetting his hesitation, Merlin strode into the center of the circle and knelt down next to George. He helped the nervous boy straighten the horn out properly, and then gave him a nod. George took in a deep breath of air, filling his lungs to full capacity, and then, with his whole heart let out a great belt. The horn sang its beautiful honking song, and a blinding white light swallowed up the whole world.

Merlin stood. His heart was in his throat.

Out of the haze and radiance a figure came slowly, slim and golden haired. He stopped just on the edge of visibility, half obscured by light like a strange mirage.

The spectral creature seemed to squint. Merlin forgot to breathe. Then, in a familiarly baffled, remarkably joyful voice, Arthur said, "Merlin?" The kingly ghost smiled and stepped from the veil into full view. He was still wearing his armor, sans cape, but it was immaculately polished. "Well, it's about damn time."


	13. The King and his Servant

Arthur took a few hearty steps and then threw his arms around Merlin, who suddenly let out all the breath he'd been holding in. The sorcerer felt a rush of relief wash over him, like all his mistakes and eight years suffering could be removed with a single embrace. And he was surprised at how real it was – for the moment his friend was not pure ether, but a thing of substance once more.

Arthur pulled away and took a step back to examine his servant. "Merlin, you don't look a day older! Hasn't it been years? By the way, you could've done to come sooner. You're always late, but this is frankly unacceptable."

Merlin's smile stretched from ear to ear.

His friend waited expectantly. "Come on, say something. You've never been this quiet in your whole life."

"Yes," Merlin said suddenly, "And you've never been so loud in your death." The smile began to fade. The weight of the world came crashing back down. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"Oh you aren't still caught up on that are you?" Arthur said playfully. He gave Merlin a gentle punch to the shoulder, but the sorcerer's smile did not return. The king paused, his voice falling to solemnity. "You are, aren't you? Merlin…"

"It was my job to protect you," Merlin said. He had begun to shake. He looked down at his quivering hands desperately, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He with all his great power – he could not prevent Arthur's death eight years ago, and now he could not even manage to still his own broken heart. "If I had done my job right, you would not be here."

"Merlin," Arthur said earnestly, "If it weren't for you, I would have been here much sooner. I'm not angry."

Merlin shook his head. He was staring at his boots again, which looked peculiar in the effervescence. They seemed as much a mirage as Arthur did.

"I know you're not angry," Merlin said, "But I am."

A silence fell in which the static buzz of the earth could be heard. Arthur took a few paces away, his footsteps falling without a single sound. "Well then," he said at last, "You really are an idiot."

Merlin looked up. Arthur had a serious air about him, a kingly look.

"I've never seen angry get anyone anywhere. I've seen angry start wars, destroy friendships. I've seen angry end lives. But I've never seen angry bring one spec of joy to this world."

Merlin nodded. "Are you really wise, Arthur?"

"I might be," he said, nodding his head. "Or maybe that was you."

Merlin crossed his arms and feigned thinking for a moment. "Yeah, you're right it was me. You're too much of a dollophead."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You're going to talk to your King like that? Have you put in the stocks, I will. Can you even define dollophead?"

"Sure I can," Merlin said, "it's the same as a clotpole."

The two stared at each other for a long moment, waiting to see who would break first. It was Merlin, of course, who let the first hint of a smile dance on his lips, though he tried earnestly to hide it. Arthur let out a great deep laugh, and all at once they were in the midst of the laughter like a cloud. It was infectious. Merlin laughed until his cheeks were sore and warm tears were running down his face.

It was the happiest he'd been in eight years.

When finally the cackles and chuckles had come to a low simmer Arthur said, "It is good to see you, Merlin. Everything until today has been hazy, like whispers that come to me from long way. It's nice to see something clearly for once. I'm glad that it's you."

"Yes," Merlin said, "I feel very much the same way."

"You've seen Guinevere recently?"

Merlin nodded.

"How is she?" Arthur's eyes held a tinge of worry. Merlin smiled it away.

"She misses you. But she is well. Leon and the other knights take good care of her. She is as strong as ever and the kingdom is at peace."

Arthur swallowed. Merlin wondered what exactly he was choking back, but then, he was almost certain he knew. "I'm glad she's well." Arthur said. The words came out like a whisper, strained and almost inaudible. Merlin looked away. "Oh, and another thing," Arthur said, suddenly perking back up. "What is this about you having Morgana's dragon?"

Merlin looked around, as if Aithusa might be standing right in front of him. No, she was outside keeping watch over the horses. "You know about that?" Merlin stuttered.

"You thought I wouldn't notice?" he said, almost winking with his words. And then, "Merlin, you can't keep a dragon in Camelot!"

"Why not?" Merlin said.

"Why not? It's a dragon!"

"Do you know how many times a dragon saved your life?"

Arthur's face contorted in horror. It was like he'd just smelled one of his own dirty boots for the first time. George had a habit of making the same face when he was thinking. _George,_ Merlin thought – he'd almost forgot the little boy, he'd been so silent, watching in perfect awe as his father strode out of the abyss and back into Merlin's life. "I'm just going to pretend you didn't say that," Arthur said.

"Doesn't make it any less true," Merlin remarked absent-mindedly. He glanced at the young prince. Arthur failed to notice.

"There is one thing I don't understand," Arthur said. He was pacing again. Arthur always did get too caught up in his own thoughts.

"Just one?"

Arthur cast his friend an annoyed look, but went on with his pacing. "Today is the equinox, so you must have found the Horn of Cathbhadh to open the veil."

Merlin bit his lip. He said, "yes," softly and found he was staring at George. The boy's eyes reflected back the pool of light around them, making them seem even wider and fuller of life than usual.

"But for the horn to call me," Arthur said, returning his gaze definitely to Merlin, "it would have had to be blown by one of my descendants. And you are not my descendant."

The sorcerer shifted his weight. "Right. About that…" Merlin turned away slowly, and Arthur followed the motion, his eyes alighting on the little boy with the cat-like eyes who was still desperately clutching the horn.

If Arthur had breath, it all went out of him suddenly.

"George," Merlin said softly. The boy looked between the two men, stupefied by all that had happened. "Come meet your father."

Arthur's eyes gleamed with some strange mixture of pride and sadness. George stared back at the man he'd never met but somehow knew, and his eyes were the same. "Father," Arthur repeated slowly, tasting the word. He turned to Merlin, "This is my son?"

"Don't tell me you knew about the dragon but you didn't know about this?"

"Shut up Merlin," Arthur said half-heartedly. He took a few steps, and then crouched slowly next to George, who still refused to speak. The pair just stared at each other for a long moment, neither sure what this newfound relationship meant. Then Arthur put a hand on the boy's shoulder. The little boy dropped the horn he'd been holding so dearly and threw his arms around Arthur's neck, which took him somewhat by surprise. Merlin watched as they embraced, not knowing what to feel.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said to the boy, "I should be there to help you grow into a man. But you'll be alright without me. You have good people watching over you. You'll just have to be extra brave."

The little boy nodded, his face wet with silent tears. He sucked in a deep breath, and said, "When I grow up, father, I'm going to be like you."

Arthur laughed through a burst of sudden sorrow. His eyes were wet, too, but they were clear. "Don't be too much like me," he said. "Be your own man, but always remember to be courageous, and also to be kind."

The little boy smiled as Arthur stood and lay a hand on his head to ruffle his hair. The king cast a glance at Merlin, then turned halfway away, not sure if he should be embarrassed that he was crying. Sure, he was too proud for that, but if someone had to see him weep he didn't mind it being his warm-hearted servant. "You have to go," Arthur said at last. "The veil is beginning to close. I can feel it."

Merlin could feel it too, the ebb and flow of magic that had held Arthur in place was slipping away, back into the great chasm from which it came. The sorcerer nodded. Slowly, Merlin moved towards George, who was still looking up at his magnificent father.

"You will take care of them." Arthur said.

Merlin nearly chocked on his words. "Of course."

The king gave his friend his best smile, though it was surely a sad one. "Next time, don't wait eight years to visit."

"As you wish, Sire." A moment of peace transpired, that all desperately hoped could last forever, but Merlin knew too well how close to the brink they were. They had already stayed longer than they should. He gathered up the horn George had dropped, and set his arm on his shoulder and the pair walked towards the edge of the great circle, the light around them already beginning to dim, as if they were waking from some shared surrealist dream.

The king watched them go.

At the edge of glow, the little boy paused and cast a glance back at his ghostly father, who was all but obscured by mist. Merlin caught the exchange out of the corner of his eye. His heart dropped.

The little boy refocused on the path in front of him, and the great radiance dissolved into daylight. It was properly raining now, and the world felt dark.

Merlin stared at George for a long moment, knowing something monumental had been done in one small gesture.


	14. The Mysterious Flowers

Part III: The Lost Light

Gaius threw down the massive volume he was holding with what felt in that moment like the most upsetting _thwunk_ Merlin had ever heard. How had the old man even been holding something so hefty and unruly?

"George did what?" Gaius shouted.

Merlin pursed his lips, and took a quick step to the other side of the table, avoiding the old man's gaze. "I'm not sure he did anything. I'm just saying he might have."

Gaius slowly spun as Merlin paced around him. The ride back to Camelot had been surprisingly uneventful, with no sign of bandits or other dangers. Merlin had thought, at one moment during the long ride, that he had heard soft druid singing somewhere in the distance, but in his eagerness to return home he had dismissed it as the whistle of the wind. They had arrived just as night was falling over Camelot, the skies finally clearing from a long day of drizzle and cloud cover to reveal a few bold stars.

"Did he, or did he not, look back when you were crossing the veil?"

Merlin looked at Gaius, his mouth slightly agape. "I…I don't know. He looked back, but we might have been clear."

"Do you learn nothing from your mistakes?"

"Technically –" Merlin scrambled, "It was George."

"Yes, blame the seven year old."

Merlin hung his head. "Look, Gaius, there's a perfectly good chance that nothing will happen. We were on the fringe, one little glance may not have been enough to break the veil. I just wanted to make you aware that there could be a remote possibility that –" Merlin trailed off, staring out the window at nothing in particular. Aithusa was curled in the square below, attracting the usual attention that dragons do as she settled into a calm sleep. The knights were bustling about the halls, chatting or checking some final things before making their way home for the night. The city was just as it should be.

"Merlin, are you smiling?"

The sorcerer found he was. Gaius gave a disgruntled shake of head and plodded away, back to leafing through his massive volumes. He wasn't looking for anything in particular in the books, he simply liked to remind himself of all the things he used to know.

Merlin bid Gaius goodnight, and trotted off to his new chambers in high spirits. The room still felt too large, the bed too luxurious, but it seemed somehow less empty now. With an oddly restful mind, Merlin settled into sleep.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Dawn broke through the stained glass window in Guinevere's chambers with an alarming beauty – her serving girl had failed to close the curtains fully the night before. She gave a contented stretch beneath her silk covers and contemplated rolling over and going back to sleep. Would it be a crime to neglect business for a day and just lounge about? There seemed to be a false belief among the general populace that ruling the kingdom was an easy task, or at least a fun one, but Gwen knew all too well the tedium and long hours of council meetings, the lonely evenings devoid of any visitors (for fear they may disturb her) and the heavy heat that came with impossible decisions. It was never the job Gwen wanted. It had been Arthur she'd desired – the title and the silk and the endless meetings were just part of the deal.

Gwen let out a yawn and rolled over in a graceless manner unbefitting of a queen. Her eyes drooped, and were half closed when they alighted on a beautiful, full bouquet of wildflowers that had appeared seemingly spontaneously on her bedside table. She smiled and reached out to touch them, half believing they were some remnant of a dream.

A series of three soft knocks on the big wooden door alerted Gwen to her serving girl's pending presence. The girl walked in, her steps light and silent.

"Good morning, Salia," Guinevere said, still curled under the covers.

"Good morning, my lady," Salia returned softly. Her voice sounded almost like very quiet music. She reminded Guinevere of the birds she so often admired and studied, flitting around the room in her faded yellow frock.

Salia set a silver tray filled with fresh bread, cheese, and grapes at the foot of the bed. It was the usual breakfast, and Guinevere gave her usual smile. "Thank you, Salia. And thank you for the flowers. They've brightened my morning."

The girl looked confused and a little horrified, her eyes darting to the vase filled with light purple blossoms. "My lady?" she said.

At this Guinevere sat up. "Was it not you who left them for me?"

Salia shook her head 'no' and the movement rocked her entire slim frame.

"That's odd," Gwen said, "I don't recall them being there last night when I went to bed."

Salia folded her hands in front of her and glanced at the floor, clearly feeling altogether uncomfortable with the situation. "Perhaps Asha brought them in last evening and you missed them?" she offered. Gwen thought back to the evening before and felt with certainty that the flowers had not been present when her evening servant finished her chores for the night, but she supposed it was possible the young woman had slipped back in and placed the vase on the table while she was asleep.

"Will you be needing anything else?" Salia asked.

"No, not at the moment," Gwen said. Her eyes fell back on the flowers, mystery that they were, and she recalled with some uneasiness the importance of the day.

IOIOIOIOIOI

In shade of the forest, three hooded figures waited in a pregnant silence near the mouth of an ancient cave. Each listened with aptitude as the leaves rustled in the trees and wafted through the air toward the ground. At last, one heard the awaited sound – soft footfalls.

A man in a deep blue cloak appeared through the early morning fog. He paused in front of the trio, throwing his hood back with a sense of purpose. He was an average man in stature and appearance, with russet hair tumbling around his ivory ears and a well-defined jawline. On his neck was a trio of spirals – the mark of a druid, if a crude one.

"What news, Gareth?" asked the middle hood, in a seething, trilling voice.

"Gaheris is dead," replied the man.

A shutter of surprise ran through the three. The middle hood spoke again, her voice cracking and lashing at once, "By whose hand?"

"I don't know. I could only glean that he was killed in the Queen's chambers, and that she and the boy still live."

"How could this be?" asked the woman to the right of center.

"Gaheris was a fool, he should have waited." replied the man to the left.

The center hood raised a hand, bidding the others to fall silent. "We must be more careful and deliberate," she said. She tilted her head up, revealing a face as severe as her voice and a few sharp blonde curls beneath her maroon hood. "We will have vengeance yet."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Gwen made her way down the long hallway on the second floor of the castle, hurrying her step when she caught sight of Asha carrying a basket of laundry at the far end. "Asha!" she called. The girl spun, startled by the queen's urgency. She was not as timid as Salia, but she still had a sense of her place in the castle, and that it was a low one. Asha shifted the basket of laundry to one hip and wiped her free hand against her red dress. She attempted a clumsy bow.

"My lady?"

Guinevere smiled softly, though she felt a shiver run up her spine. "Asha, did you leave a bouquet on my bedside table last night?"

"I'm afraid not, my lady, though I could do so in future."

"That won't be necessary," the queen said. A fear was dawning on her, and it showed. Her face turned pale and her brown eyes hung wide, open like windows to her thoughts.

Asha threw the basket to the other hip. It was not overwhelmingly heavy, but she was a girl of practicality, and didn't like her arms getting sore if it wasn't necessary. "What ails you?" she asked.

"Tis nothing of importance," Guinevere said. "Tell me, have you seen Merlin this morning?"

"The sorcerer?" Asha asked. "He was out in courtyard this morning with his dragon. I have not seen him since."

Guinevere nodded and thanked the girl before striding away, trying to hide her fear with a proud posture. If the flowers had not been brought in by either girl, then who remained? No one else should have access to her chambers – could the bouquet have been a veiled threat? _Look, I can come and go without any notice?_ Gwen thought back to the previous week, the horror at realizing there was a man threatening her son that dawned too late. Gaius had attributed her lax reaction to the man's appearance to his use of magic. Certainly, Gwen had no desire to condemn magic the way her predecessors had, but the ease with which magic deceived scared her.

To Gwen's relief, Merlin was still in the courtyard, scratching his great lizard's head softly. He had a far off look in his eye, like he was caught in an impossible daydream. Gwen almost hated to rouse him from it, but she was desperate for an answer.

"Merlin," she said.

He turned, half surprised, and then gave a great smile. Had Gwen not been in a fit of worry she might have noticed how genuine and out of place the gesture was, but in her distracted state failed to notice.

"Gwen," he said, "Can I do something for you?"

"I just wanted to thank you for the bouquet," she said. "It was sweet of you to remember what today is."

Merlin's face fell, and Gwen was seized again with fear.

"It wasn't you either, then?" she asked.

Merlin shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, it wasn't me." He noticed the change in the queen as she let her fear spill fully onto her tired face. She sucked in a few short breaths, and they came back out in uneasy huffs. Merlin straightened up. "What's wrong?"

IOIOIOIOIOI

Merlin and Guinevere stood in the bedchambers, eyes both fixed on the little purple flowers which stuck up from the vase in tufts.

"I'm sorry," Gwen said, "It's silly, I know. It's just after last week…"

"No, Gwen, I'm glad you told me. This is what I'm here for."

The queen nodded. "Can you sense anything?" she asked uneasily.

Merlin took a deep breath and closed his eyes, stretching himself through the room. It still felt strange to do such a thing by request and in the presence of his friend, but it was freeing, too. The energy of the space flowed through him – there was nothing unordinary about it, or at least nothing hostile. With his eyes still clamped shut, Merlin said, "I don't think magic was used here."

He stretched further, listening to the soft sound of the earth and the bustle from the courtyard. Then something struck him – a presence he didn't expect. It was familiar. It was – Merlin's eyes flew open. "Gwen, you said something about today being special?"

Gwen's eyes fell to the floor for a moment, then she looked back up at Merlin with a solemnity befitting of her grief. "It would have been my wedding anniversary."

A smile broke across Merlin's face, which took the queen entirely by surprise.

"What is it?" she asked.

Merlin rested his hands on her shoulders. "I can't explain, Gwen, but I promise it isn't bad. Enjoy the flowers." With that, he turned and sprinted from the room, leaving the queen alone with her thoughts and a bouquet of purple wildflowers.


	15. The Something Golden

"Gaius!" The muffled shout was loud even through the door – the excitement seemed to reverberate through the wood. That could only mean one thing.

Merlin burst into the room, a smile stretching across his youthful face. Gaius might've dropped the vile of dark liquid he was holding had he not been expecting the less-than-subtle appearance.

"Gaius," Merlin said between quick breaths, "do you remember that potion you made when Uther's ghost broke through the vail? The one that tasted really rubbish?"

The old man responded with a half-hearted "mhmm."

"Do you think you could make it again?"

Gaius glanced up from his work. Merlin's eyes were narrowed with anticipation, his lips folded in. Something in the expression made his ears look even larger than usual.

The old man held up the vial. "You mean this?" he said, "It'll be done by nightfall."

"Thank you, Gaius!" Merlin said, diving towards the old man to give him a hug before remembering his clumsy manor could easily knock the sacred liquid from Gaius's hand.

Gaius raised an eyebrow. "Merlin," he said, "you do know that when you find him, you'll have to send him back."

Merlin stopped in his tracks. "Maybe," he said.

"Maybe? Merlin you can't seriously be considering…"

"Oh come on, it won't be like before. He's not his father's son. He won't hurt anyone."

"I'm not denying Arthur is of a calmer temperament than Uther, but spirits are not meant to cross into this world. It upsets the balance and…"

"Gaius," Merlin said, tightening his shoulders, "I will do what I have to if it comes to it, but it might not come to it. Maybe," – there was a tremor in his voice here – "maybe this time everything will be fine."

Gaius let out a sigh, but made no reply to the youthful sorcerer. After some stirring and mixing, he said, "come back tonight and the potion will be ready."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Merlin returned when the shadows in the town were growing long and thin. Gaius was hunched over one of his big wooden tables, studying the liquid in the vial with a curved piece of glass to make sure the consistency was perfect. Merlin bounced up and down on his toes.

The day had passed in a strange haze. George had spent some hours in the afternoon following Merlin around the garden, half-listening to Merlin's explanations of the properties of herbs and half trying to slay slugs and other slow-moving bugs. He seemed entirely unaware of the presence that followed them around, haunting the grounds with a quiet vibration.

Aithusa, on the other hand, had been on edge all day, all too aware that something was different in Camelot. She paced the courtyard discontentedly, occasionally stopping to focus with rapt attention on some nothingness in front of her. When Merlin caught her doing this, he would look too, willing himself to see what she saw, to confirm his suspicion.

Once, right before supper, an overripe apple had fallen from a tree and landed Merlin square on the head. He groaned and rubbed his head, and very nearly said, " _Arthur you clotpole_!" but stopped himself for fear it really was just a rotten apple and he'd be making a fool of himself.

A fool in front of whom he wasn't sure, because he was perfectly alone. Still, he wanted to be certain.

Now that dusk was upon the land and the potion was nearly ready, Merlin could not contain his anticipation one moment more. "Gaius, is it ready yet?"

"Patience," Gaius said, and Merlin was certain he would follow the word with some epitaph of wisdom, but the old man simply grew quiet and Merlin was forced to wait on in silence. He took to pacing around the room, lighting the candles to combat the fading day. When the last candle was lit, Gaius made a show of straightening himself up and holding the vail up to the flickering orange glow.

Both men stared at it for a long while, and then Gaius presented it to Merlin.

"Don't drink it all," Gaius said, "Half should do. I don't know how long it'll last. It's more potent than the last batch, if I'm remembering correctly."

"I wouldn't drink a drop more of this than I had to," Merlin said, "if it's half as bad as I remember it."

"It'll probably be twice as bad."

Merlin took a deep breath. "Well, bottoms up." And with that he knocked back half of the liquid in the vial in one foul gulp.

The candles suddenly blurred into masses of yellow-oranges and whites, and Merlin blinked through what he thought must be tears. He felt like his feet had left the ground, and that he was possibly standing on the ceiling, but he knew this to be false: he was where he stood and that was the end of it.

Gaius squinted at him. "Are you alright?"

"It's definitely potent," Merlin rasped.

"Sit down," Gaius said, waving Merlin toward a bench. Even as he refused Merlin felt himself moving toward the chair. He sat.

"I think a quarter vial would've done."

"I'll dilute what's left," Gaius said, taking the vial from Merlin's shaking hands. Slowly the world stilled itself and Merlin could see clearly again – too clearly, as it were. He could see the essence of each thing in the room, shimmering around it like an aura. This was what it took to see a soul.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Merlin tip-toed through the castle. Night had settled in the time it took Merlin to regain his footing well enough to begin his mission. The sounds of water sloshing in buckets and pans clattering together rose from the kitchen, announcing the servants' final cleanup. George had long been put to bed, and only Aithusa stirred in the courtyard below. Camelot was at peace.

Merlin glanced out a window at his dragon, hoping to glean something about the ghost he sought, but her behavior was normal and told him nothing.

A rustle of the wind brought Merlin down to the locked door of the armory, and thinking he heard something within he whispered a spell and the door swung free. He stuck his head inside but found only moonlight glinting off swords, shields and crossbows. He took a step back and bumped into something, or rather someone. "Arthur?" he whispered.

"What was that, Sir Sorcerer?"

Tristan.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder at the young knight, who was smiling back so fiercely that Merlin wondered if his cheeks didn't burn from the effort.

"I didn't say anything," Merlin said. He pointed to the knight. "Did you?"

"No, I just said…" Tristan careened around Merlin's head to peer into the armory. "What are you doing in the armory, Sir Sorcerer?"

"I've told you, it's just Merlin."

"I could have sworn I locked that door," Tristan said, tapping a long, spindly finger on the keyhole. His eyes grew wide, "Did you use _magic_ to open this door?"

"I…"

"That's amazing. You can just unlock anything? What is that like? Wait, _why_ did you unlock the armory door?"

"I was," Merlin mumbled, "looking for ghosts."

"Ghosts?"

"Sure," Merlin said. After thinking for a moment, he leaned in and whispered like he had a secret. He said, "The armory is always loaded with ghosts. What do you think happens to all those people who get killed with these swords?"

It was hard to tell in the blue light, but it looked like Tristan had suddenly gone even paler than usual. His face contorted into something like fear. "Really?"

"Of course. I was just doing a routine check on the weapons, to make sure there are no ghosts attached."

"And?" Tristan prompted.

Merlin ineptly looked around the room. "Looks like you're all clear. No ghosts here."

"Oh, thank goodness." Tristan said. As Merlin swiveled back to face him he caught a glimpse of something quick and golden passing around a corner. "I don't know what I'd do if I saw a ghost."

"No, I don't know either," Merlin said. "Excuse me, Tristan." With that, Merlin slunk away, calling back to Tristan to remind him to relock the armory. The young knight stood for a moment, watching the sorcerer go, and then went about fumbling through a set of brass keys to find the right one.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Gwen lay awake in bed, staring at the canopy overhead. The purple flowers bloomed by her bedside, and she couldn't help but feel uneasy despite Merlin's reassurances. She sighed, rolled over, sighed again. There was nothing that could still her churning mind, and so she quietly rose and threw on some dressing robes. A walk, she thought, might do her some good.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Merlin followed the something golden down a long corridor and up several flights of spiral stairs. Every time he began to question the accuracy of his steps, he would again catch a glimpse of that ethereal light he sought. Eventually this endeavor lead him to the middle of a long stone hallway, where Merlin stood in the flickering torchlight and waited.

A long moment passed. It grew longer. He nearly resolved to move on, when the air suddenly took on a bitterness to it, and Merlin felt a shiver run up his spine. The torches lining the hall all blew out at once in a flurry. Merlin stood in the darkness for half a second, his mind racing, then he whispered a spell and a little orb of light formed in his palm. He held it up light a candle.

"Arthur!" Merlin called.

Behind him, Merlin heard something stir, but he didn't move.

"Scared, Merlin?" came the steady voice of his king.

"Me, scared?" Merlin said, "Never."

The sorcerer turned and found Arthur smiling behind him, arms crossed over his chest and a smug look on his face. The men regarded each other, each brimming with a strange yet familiar happiness.

"Seems George is a bit more like his father than he realizes," Arthur said. "Tell me, Merlin, did you have to drink that awful concoction of Gaius's?"

"It's even worse the second time," Merlin said.

Arthur laughed, deep and hearty. The sound reverberated down the long corridor, and Merlin wondered if anyone else could hear it. He almost hoped the rest of the castle could hear that sound, that hopeful, wonderful sound.

"Did you see Gwen?" Merlin asked.

Arthur nodded. "She looks well. A little sad."

"Well, you know what day it is."

"I do know," Arthur said, "And I remembered all on my own. You didn't even have to remind me this time."

"First time for everything, I suppose."

Arthur moved to bump Merlin on the shoulder, and Merlin was surprised when he felt it. Arthur was more than just a trick of the light. He had substance.

"Is it good to be back?" Merlin asked, "In Camelot?"

Arthur looked around at the darkness that surrounded him. "It hasn't changed much," he said slowly, "but I know it is no longer mine."

Merlin shook his head. "It will always be your Camelot, Arthur. Ask anyone."

"Unfortunately it looks like I have only you to talk to," Arthur said, raising an eyebrow. "A fate worse than death," he added playfully.

Merlin opened his mouth to make a witty reply, but the soft sound of footfalls kept him silent. Arthur looked at him, and Merlin quickly doused his ball of luminescence. The hall fell into total darkness.

As the steps drew nearer, so did the flickering of a candle. A yellowy face danced above the flames – Gwen, out pacing the castle in search of some relief from her insomnia. The light of her candle didn't catch Merlin until she was nearly on top of him, and his sudden appearance out of the darkness caused Gwen to let out a little shriek.

"Merlin," she said, one hand folded over her breast while the other clenched the base of her candle. "You startled me. What are you doing down here in the dark?"

Merlin glanced at Arthur, who was still by his side. The King had his head bowed and his eyes fixed on the floor, as if his not seeing Guinevere might prevent her seeing him. Oddly, this seemed to be working well enough, at least in the sense that Gwen _couldn't_ see him, though Merlin suspected this had nothing to do with the aversion of his gaze.

"Gwen," Merlin said. He fumbled.

"Do not say you're checking the castle for ghosts again," Arthur ordered.

Merlin glanced at Arthur and then back to Gwen, who was staring at the befuddled sorcerer with a look of concern.

"I am," Merlin said, "doing what you're doing."

Gwen's hand dropped from her chest and she sighed. "You couldn't sleep either?" She paced a few steps, so that she was close enough to Arthur he could feel her breathing. Gwen tensed up, though she herself didn't seem to know why. "I just feel there is a restlessness in the castle tonight."

"Oh?" Merlin said.

"Like something has changed this day."

Merlin side-eyed Arthur, who was now looking intensely at Gwen. "Don't tell her," Arthur ordered.

Merlin wanted to ask, _Are you sure_? But saying anything at all would give Arthur away.

"Perhaps," Merlin said, "Your memories of the past have been stirred today. Perhaps the restlessness is only yours."

Gwen considered this, and Arthur reached out a hand to touch her hair, but refrained. Instead his pale, yellowy fingers fluttered just above Gwen's curls. Merlin bit his lip.

"You're probably right, Merlin," Gwen said. "I forget sometimes how powerful memories can be." She smiled and touched Merlin's arm in farewell, and then slipped back down the corridor the way she had come.

"Sometimes I forget, too," Merlin whispered.

Arthur's hand still hung suspended in mid-air as he watched the love of his life fade into the night. The look in his pale blue eyes made Merlin desperately want to turn his back, but he couldn't stop watching his king watch the queen walk away.


	16. The Figure in the Mist

Author's Note: My sincerest apologies for the extremely long hiatus. I was finishing a Master's Degree and couldn't convince myself to do more writing on top of all my writing. Hopefully I will be posting more regularly going forward, though I make no promises I can't keep. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me this far - the journey isn't over yet.

XXXXX

"Are you going to stand there all night?" Merlin asked from the edge of his bed. The spectral Arthur loomed in the corner, one hand resting on his chin in an eerie contemplation.

For the most part Arthur seemed, to Merlin's trained eye, largely unchanged since the days of his life. Of course he hadn't aged, and his humor was still intact. What was different was the way he moved, or rather the way he stood perfectly still for long moments. In life Arthur hadn't been fidgety exactly, but he had had a normal sway and breath and heartbeat. Now Merlin would find him completely motionless, like he'd been frozen into stone by Medusa or captured in painting by a skilled craftsman.

"Arthur?" Merlin tried again. At this, the kingly ghost stirred. "I do need to go to sleep eventually," Merlin said.

"Well, I don't need to sleep."

"So you _are_ going to stand there all night."

"Merlin, believe me, I haven't any desire to watch you sleep. But what am I supposed to do with myself all night?"

Merlin let out a dramatic yawn to further illustrate his point. "I don't know? Haunt the grounds? Confuse the guards?"

" _Merlin._ "

"Seriously, that's what I do when I can't sleep at night."

"Well," Arthur said, "Some of us have more dignity than that."

"You could check on George. Or, I don't know, watch _Gwen_ sleep?"

Something changed in Arthur's face, and he breathlessly froze once more. Merlin felt his eyes beginning to droop uncontrollably, but he also knew that his king was troubled and it was his duty to try to ease his mind.

"Why didn't you let me tell her you were there?" Merlin asked. "She'd be delighted to know you're in the castle. She'd even drink some of that awful potion if it meant seeing you."

"Maybe," Arthur said. "But maybe…"

"What is it?"

"What if she doesn't want to see me?"

"Arthur, that's ridiculous, she misses you terribly," Merlin said. "You can see it in her eyes."

"Even so, I did leave her."

"You didn't mean to. And if anyone is to blame for your – for you not coming back, it's me, not you."

"Don't say that," Arthur said, "It wasn't your fault."

"And it wasn't yours. The ones to blame are Morgana and Mordred."

"Yes," Arthur said, "And they're gone."

"Do you ever," Merlin ventured, "see them, on the other side of the veil?"

"No," Arthur said, "I don't think they went where I did. They went somewhere else."

"Good."

"Yes," Arthur said, "Now, get some sleep."

"Is that an order?"

"Maybe."

"Will you let me tell Gwen in the morning?" Merlin asked.

Arthur paused next to the door and glanced back at his faithful servant. "I'll think about it," he said, and then he passed straight through the wood. Merlin fell asleep with the firm belief that he would talk Arthur around come morning light, and that there would soon be a happy reunion of king and queen.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Arthur passed the early hours of the morning retracing old paths through the castle halls and gardens. When he walked in the courtyard, Aithusa perked up and thumped her oversized tail in amicable greeting. Arthur eyed the beast and regretted that his ethereal sword was useless on flesh and blood. The dragon gave a great stretch and lumbered to her feet, smiling a toothy grin at Arthur all the while. "You," Arthur said, "Dragon, don't make the mistake of thinking I like you."

Aithusa thumped her tail again, and threw her massive snout toward Arthur. He instinctively stumbled backwards, hands raised. As if the dragon could do any more damage to him than had already been done. Arthur righted himself and privately felt a flush of embarrassment at having feared the creature at all. In his defense, he thought, the dragon did forge the sword that ultimately killed him, and that was a fair argument for disliking the beast.

"If I had any control over Merlin at all, I'd make him get rid of you."

Aithusa trilled at him.

"I know, Merlin never listens anyway."

Arthur turned his back on the beast and strolled across the courtyard, but when he turned she was still right behind him, tail thumping forcefully on the pavement stones.

"Shooo! Go! Go back to sleep. I don't want you following me."

Aithusa tilted her head. Arthur imagined her saying, "What?"

"I know you understand me. Now, go bother some other ghost."

Aithusa looked at the ground, seemingly defeated, but then her head popped back up and she stared with rapt attention into the distance. Arthur was beginning to wonder why no one listened to him, even in death, when he heard the sound of rocks sliding. He followed the dragon's gaze and saw what she saw: a hooded figure, draped in the morning mist and the first light of day. Aithusa let out an aggravated roar. The figure locked eyes with the dragon and turned tail, cape billowing after him as he retreated into the forest.

"Hey!" Arthur yelled, then scolded himself for forgetting no one could hear him. He took off at a sprint after the figure, who he decided must be a man by the way he ran.

Arthur followed the hooded man past the edge of the forest, just far enough to see him glance back. Russet curls and a sharp jaw protruded from beneath the hood. And the man's eyes – Arthur could've swore he knew that look. It was a look he'd mistaken for something less malicious in eyes like Morgana's or Agrivaine's. He had learned not to trust eyes like those.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"Merlin!" Arthur said, in a shout that sounded a bit like a whisper. The sorcerer shot up from his dreamless sleep into a confused panic. He blinked a few times, surprised by Arthur's presence before he recounted the previous day's events in his mind.

The first golden rays of sunlight were only just struggling their way through the stained glass window, and Merlin fell back onto his pillow with a moan. "It's barely light out. I know you're bored, Arthur, but the living need sleep."

"Just listen to me for once," Arthur said.

Merlin opened one eye to behold the king's seriousness. "What happened?"

"I was walking in the courtyard before dawn when I saw a hooded man creeping around the castle. He looked like he was up to no good."

"Maybe it was just one of the merchants or farmers going for an early stroll."

"No, I'd never seen this man before."

"Arthur," Merlin said, "It's been eight years. There are loads of people in Camelot you haven't seen before."

"Just trust me. He was looking for a way into the castle."

Arthur turned his catlike eyes so fiercely on Merlin, that Merlin felt a coldness run down his spine. It was, for lack of a better description, haunting.

"Okay," Merlin said, "I believe you. Did he get into the castle?"

"No, he ran off when he saw your pet."

"Aithusa?" Merlin asked.

"Yes, and speaking of which, we need to have a chat about that dragon."

"She's not bothering anyone."

"She's bothering me," Arthur said.

"Look, I am the last dragonlord and she is the last dragon. We're meant to stay together."

"You, a dragonlord? That's ridiculous."

"No, it most certainly isn't!" Merlin said, a little too loudly. A knock on the door came as a quick reply, and a muffled, "Merlin?"

Merlin jumped out of bed and let the door swing open. Leon poked his head skeptically into the room. "Are you alright, Merlin? I heard shouting."

"Fine," Merlin said, "Just fine." He eyed Arthur, who was wearing a stupid grin.

"Who were you talking to?" Leon asked.

"No one. I was…"

"Practicing poetry," Arthur suggested.

"…practicing poetry," Merlin said, and almost immediately regretted the words.

"Poetry?" Leon asked. He scanned the room again with this eyes, looking right through Arthur, who let out a hearty chuckle.

"Yes," Merlin said reluctantly, "Poetry."

"Ah," Leon said, his brows furrowed together. "Well, good luck, I suppose."

"Thank you, Sir Leon."

Merlin pushed the door closed slowly and waited a moment before turning back to face Arthur. He knew exactly what sort of senseless look would be plastered on his face – raised brows, smiling eyes, and his teeth glistening in a mocking smile.

"You're welcome for that," Arthur said.

"Uh-huh." Merlin replied.

IOIOIOIOIOI

In the forest Gareth called upon his fellow druids. They emerged from the flora one by one, and together they stood like the four points on a compass. "What news?" the blonde woman asked.

"They have a dragon," Gareth reported.

A shudder might have run through the forest itself, but the group remained eerily calm. "Impossible," the blonde woman snarled. "Dragons are extinct. The last one to see such a beast was the Lady Morgana herself, and that was near a decade ago."

"I know what I saw," Gareth said.

"If this is true, that changes things. I never thought that rat Guinevere would keep a dragon chained at her castle."

"Not chained, Marissa. The beast roamed free."

The blonde woman tilted her head, allowing a few golden locks to spill from her hood. "Free?" she said, "and it did not rampage or burn the city?"

"No."

"I have heard talk," Marissa said, "That a man with dragonlord blood still walks Albion. I thought it errant rumor, but if there is a peaceful dragon it Camelot, it may indeed be true."

"Who is this man?" asked the other woman.

"He has many names," Marissa said, "but the one that the old druids used was Emrys."

"The sorcerer who killed the Lady Morgana," Gareth breathed.

"So it is said. And," Marissa added, "we have every reason to believe he has returned to Camelot."


	17. The Woman in the Forest

Ghost, man, and beast strode through the forest on the soft afternoon light – the first making no sound at all, the second only soft footfalls, and the third thundering along. They might have, had they had the opportunity to look at themselves, thought that they would have made a nice scene for a tapestry. Or at least, that's what Merlin would have thought. Arthur would have thought only that they looked rather funny, and Aithusa would have thought nothing on the matter at all, because art wasn't exactly her forte.

Merlin had spent the morning trying to convince Arthur he should talk to Gwen, or at minimum let her know he was there. Arthur, stubbornly, had ignored all of his pleas and even discounted a rather impressive (if Merlin did say so himself) lecture about destiny and Gwen being his true love, and how no amount of time would change that.

Now, after hours in the forest, that line of thought seemed like a lost battle.

"We've been walking for hours," Merlin said. "I think we've patrolled every inch of this forest with no sign of this mysterious man of yours."

"Getting tired, Merlin?" Arthur asked.

"As a matter of fact, I am," he answered.

"Why don't you just magic yourself some energy?"

"That's not how it works," Merlin said.

"Then what is the point of it?"

Merlin opened his mouth to say something either clever or profound – he hadn't decided which yet – when a scream echoed through the forest. Aithusa perked up, and the men looked at each other in the usual way they did when they mutually understood someone was in need of their help.

The trio broke into a full run – even Arthur, who didn't truly need to run to get anywhere. A few less alarmed "helps!" echoed through the trees, guiding them through the entanglement of brush, stone, and timber.

They seemed rather close to the sound when Merlin gracelessly slid on a patch of wet leaves and discovered the source of the problem, which turned out to be a large hole in the ground, by falling directly into it.

Merlin tumbled downward, letting out a few grunts along the way. Aithusa and Arthur stopped short and peered into the pit, where Merlin was tangled in his own gangly limbs.

"Alright there, Merlin?" Arthur shouted.

Merlin let out a string of mumbles which seemed to confirm he was well enough intact.

"I see you're no less clumsy than you were before," Arthur said, hardly trying to disguise a laugh.

"Shut up," Merlin snarled. He struggled to dislodge himself from his jacket, which had gone over his head in the fall. He sat up and indignantly knocked mud off his unevenly coated scarf.

Above, Arthur muttered, "I still cannot believe he's the greatest sorcerer of all time." Aithusa, if she had had eyebrows, would have raised one in a sort of mocking agreement.

Merlin, still focused on clearing a bit of the mud clinging to his person, swatted away a hand that reached for his shoulder, thinking Arthur must've floated nicely down into the pit.

"Sorry," said a clear, strange voice.

Merlin glanced up to see it wasn't Arthur who'd reached for him – it was a woman. She pulled back her hand shyly. "I only wanted to see if you were alright," she said.

Merlin stumbled to his feet in a flurry. The woman was of average height with no notable features, aside, perhaps, from her vibrant blonde locks. Her face and clothes, like Merlin's, were covered in dirt.

"I," Merlin stammered, "am fine." He turned and looked up – the pit was twice his height in depth, and too sheer to climb. "I heard someone calling for help," Merlin explained.

"Aye, that was me," said the woman. "This hunting trap was covered with leaves, I fell right in instead of the intended deer." She smiled softly, and Merlin realized she was beautiful in a very subtle, forgettable way.

"Well," Merlin said, "I've come to help you."

"That's very kind, sir, but it does seem you're stuck down here too."

"Not your finest rescue, Merlin," Arthur said from above.

Merlin pursed his lips. "It's alright," Merlin said, "My friend above will help us."

The woman knitted her brows together in confusion. Arthur likewise furrowed.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Arthur said, "I can't pull you up. Toss a few flowers around, sure, but not lift a person."

Merlin looked at Arthur and shook his head almost imperceptibly. Then, a wry smile broke across his face.

" _Aithusa_ ," Merlin said. The dragon peered over the edge of the pit, her clever eyes questioning.

The woman stumbled backward, letting out a delicate little gasp. Merlin spoke a sentence in Aithusa's tongue and the dragon spun around, lowering her scaly tale into the pit.

"That's an unusual animal you have there," the woman said. Was that fear in her voice? Or awe?

"She is," Merlin said, "but she's friendly, I promise."

The woman did not look entirely convinced.

"Here, I'll help you up," Merlin offered. He cupped his hands together, and stooped to give the woman a boost to better reach the dragon's tail. The woman hesitated, but ultimately stepped into Merlin's hand. He hoisted her up, and she grabbed onto the dragon's tail.

"Try to be gentle," Merlin said to the woman, "She's a strong dragon, but she's got a bad back."

"I've never heard of a dragon with a bad back," the woman said.

"Yes, well, she's special."

"I should think so."

Arthur, who interpreted this exchange as something in the realm of flirting, rolled his eyes.

When the woman was standing firmly above, Merlin reached up and grabbed the end of Aithusa's tail. Before he could begin to climb, the dragon flicked her tail upward, bringing Merlin along with it. He landed, a little surprised, squarely between Arthur and the woman.

"Does she have a name?" asked the woman.

"Aithusa," said Merlin.

The woman bristled, but Merlin didn't notice.

"And do you have a name?" she asked.

Merlin blushed a shade of pink that made him look almost sunburned. Now Arthur was sure some flirting was going on, and he didn't particularly care for it.

"My name is Merlin. And," The sorcerer turned towards his ghostly friend, almost forming the phrase _this is Arthur_ before a sharp look stopped him. "And that's all," Merlin said. "It's just the two of us."

"You're alone?" asked the woman. There was something so tender and concerned in her voice that Merlin almost lost his train of thought.

"No," Merlin said, "I mean yes. I only meant we were alone at this moment." But then, he thought, Aithusa and he had been alone not that long ago, and for what now seemed like a very long time.

Arthur let out a long sigh. Merlin ignored him.

"We've got other things to do, Merlin," Arthur said. "Just make sure she's okay so we can get on with our search."

"Are you okay?" Merlin asked clumsily. Well, more clumsily than usual. "If you're injured I can help. I have some training as a physician."

The woman at first looked like should would decline, but she seemed to reconsider. She stretched out a pale arm, revealing a deep scratch. Arthur was almost sure he hadn't seen the mark when she was climbing the dragon's tail, but then, it wasn't likely it just materialized there.

Merlin sprang into action, combing the area for herbs and fresh spring water. He returned quickly with a bounty, dressed her wound, and then went on smiling stupidly.

This was getting worse by the minute, Arthur thought.

"Alright let's go," Arthur said.

Merlin glanced at him.

"Merlin!"

"I probably have to be going," Merlin said hesitantly. "Things to do. But, uh, if you have any trouble with that wound, you could find me in Camelot."

A smile danced on the woman's thin lips. "Thank you, Merlin. You've been too kind. If I should need your assistance, how would I find you?"

"Oh," Merlin said, "Just ask anyone in Camelot, and they'll point you in my direction."

This answer seemed to dissatisfy the woman, but she went on smiling anyway.

"Well then, I bid you farewell."

"Yes," Merlin said, "farewell."

The woman set off towards the east, and Merlin, Arthur, and Aithusa to the west. When they were safely out of earshot, Arthur let out the scoff to end all scoffs.

"Well, it looks like I'm not the one meant to have a run in with love today," he said.

"What do you mean?" Merlin asked.

"The girl?" Arthur said. Wasn't it obvious?

Merlin shook his head. "I was just being nice, that's all. She needed my help."

"Mhmm. Sure."

"Come on."

"No, I'm sure your help was all she was after."

"Arthur."

"Come on, Merlin," Arthur said. "You aren't fooling me."

Merlin took a moment to focus on his feet, then looked back up with a rather large and goofy smile. "She was kind of pretty, wasn't she?"

Arthur rolled his eyes with a sort of I-told-you-so attitude, and then went on walking. The sun was beginning to dip low on the horizon, and though none of the trio had much to fear from night time in the forest, it only seemed right to head back to Camelot.

"Wasn't she?" Merlin repeated.

"I don't know," Arthur said. "I only have eyes for Gwen."

"Yes, and speaking of Gwen you should really…"

"Merlin."

"You brought it up," Merlin said. "Anyway, I probably won't even see that woman again."

"I'd wager not, since you didn't even ask her name."

"The name!" Merlin said, "I knew I was forgetting something."

"Every time I think you might actually be some kind of competent, Merlin, you go and prove me wrong," Arthur said. They broke through the tree line to see the castle casting long shadows on the greying day.

Home again, Arthur thought, and he felt oddly sad about it.

In the forest with only Merlin and the dragon, he could almost believe he was alive again. But here, in the city he used to know, scarcely a soul knew he was even there.

He suddenly had the urge to try to explain this to Merlin, but seeing his friend go on smiling stupidly, a spark of love just beginning in him, he decided to keep it to himself.

Death is lonely, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.


	18. The Lady of the Lake

Gwen woke to a pounding on her door, and, disoriented stumbled from her bed. The curtains were still drawn, but light was peeking through the space between.

It must be mid-day, she thought, from the way the light was falling.

The pounding on the door persisted, bleating and annoyed. It reminded Gwen of sheep in the springtime.

She threw a robe over her nightdress and put on a dignified face as she swung the big door open.

Leon, who was perhaps only seconds away from breaking down the door, tried to hide his surprise at Gwen's unqueenly state.

"My lady," Leon said. "You missed this morning's council meeting. No one had heard from you, so we began to worry. Had we known you were just having a lie in –"

"That's quite alright, Leon," Gwen said, wrapping her robe a little tighter in mild embarrassment. "Salia was supposed to wake me this morning. It seems she did not come."

"Shall I send for Asha, my lady?" Leon asked.

George pushed his way around Leon's legs and scurried into Gwen's room. He hugged her waste and smiled up at her.

"Mummy, you missed breakfast. I had to eat with Merlin, and he kept trying to _teach_ me things."

Gwen let out a little laugh and patted her son's head. To Leon, she said, "Do send for Asha. When I'm dressed I'd like to call to the lower town to check on Salia. It's not like her to miss a day's work."

"Of course," said Leon, giving a slight bow of his head.

George released Gwen from his embrace, and she bent and scooped him up into her arms. He was really getting too big for her to do this, but it still amused him and a mother's love – or lower back – knows no bounds.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Sirs Galahad and Tristian were enjoying the unusually good weather while standing guard at the gate separating the upper from the lower town. This is to say, Galahad was standing guard, and Tristian, otherwise unoccupied, was standing with him, enjoying the weather while chomping down on a leg of mutton.

"You see that over there by the far side of the gate," Tristian said between sloppy bites. "That rock there keeps going up and down of its own accord. Doesn't that seem odd to you?"

Galahad, stormy as ever, refused to even glance in the direction in which Tristian gestured. To humor him would be to encourage him, he thought, and that was the last thing Galahad wanted.

"See," Tristian said, "There it goes again."

"You're imagining things," Galahad said. "Rocks don't just float around."

"But really, if you'd just look, you'd see what I mean," Tristian insisted. He gestured wildly with his stick of mutton, so wildly, in fact, that it caught Arthur's attention on the far side of the gate. Arthur decided that, despite his boredom, it might be best to stop tossing his rock up and down, if only to shut up the young knight.

At that moment Gwen, escorted by Leon and another knight, passed through the gate. Galahad and Tristian (who dropped what was left of his mutton) came to attention and bid her good day as she passed.

"Off into town, my lady?" asked Tristan cheerfully.

"Ah yes, just calling on Salia," said Gwen, who enjoyed Tristan's chatter despite all. "She didn't come to the castle this morning," Gwen said.

The twinge of worry in her voice caught Arthur's attention, and he stood too, hoovering in close proximity to his queen.

"That's not like her at all," said Tristian.

"No not at all," said Gwen – and their polite conversation finished, Gwen continued on her way.

Arthur, curious, followed a step behind, feeling oddly self-conscious. It wasn't his intention to spy, but Merlin had been gone since just after breakfast, and it was lonely just sitting around watching people.

Gwen paused after a short distance and looked behind her, meeting Arthur's gaze. Thinking she must see him, Arthur's jaw dropped and he grappled for something to say, but she turned back around.

"What is it, my lady?" asked Leon.

"It's nothing, I'm sure, said Gwen. "I just got the feeling we're being followed."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Salia's door was shut tightly and when Leon pounded there was no answer. Gwen waited a moment and then shouted, with as much dignity as she could muster, "Salia, are you home?" A rather long pause followed, and Gwen looked skeptically at the knights.

"Could she have gone away, my lady?" asked the knight who was not Leon.

"She has family in the country, but she'd never leave without telling me," Gwen replied.

Arthur, becoming impatient with the ordeal, slipped through the door. He didn't particularly care for the sensation of the wood passing through his ethereal frame, but it was a trick he had that he might as well use.

Inside he stopped dead in his tracks – or alive in his tracks, if that's what surprised ghosts do. A girl, who he could only assume was Salia, lay shivering on the bed, broken out in a mean sweat. Gwen called out again, but the girl hardly stirred from her fitful state.

Outside, the queen and her men were beginning to make a scene. Arthur uncomfortably floated back through the door and observed the indecision on their faces.

"Should we break down the door?" Leon asked.

"I don't know," said Gwen, "Perhaps we should search elsewhere first."

"No," said Arthur, forgetting himself. Gwen seemed to tilt her head just the slightest, but otherwise there was no indication that anyone had heard him speak.

"As you wish," Leon said.

"You've got to break down the door," said Arthur, more vehemently this time. Still there was no recognition. "She's very sick," Arthur said desperately. And then, "Gwen, break down the door."

Guinevere, who had all but turned away from the house, paused for a moment and seemed to consider something. "Leon," she said, "Perhaps we should let ourselves in."

"My lady?"

"I've just had a – a feeling, it's the right thing to do."

Arthur let out an inaudible sigh of relief as the knights braced themselves to charge the door. It was thin, made of cheap wood, like all the others in the lower town. It gave way easily under their might, letting out only a feint whine as it fell.

Inside, Salia continued to toss in her fevered state, and Gwen's face melted with worry. Very suddenly she was less a queen and more a maid, running to the sick girl and wiping the sweat from her brow.

"Send for Gaius at once," Gwen ordered.

IOIOIOIOIOIOI

In the forest, the hooded figures were meeting. Gareth, uneasy since his run-in with Aithusa two days before, fiddled with a long strand of grass he'd plucked from a nearby glen. The others stood at attention, eerie in their stillness. Gareth wished they would move and give some indication that they too could feel fear.

Marissa was the last to arrive, her arm bandaged and her frock speckled with mud.

"What news?" Gareth asked eagerly.

"I have seen the dragon," she said. "It is as you said, she roams free."

At this, the other two stirred just the slightest. Gareth dropped his mangled strand of grass.

"And the plan?" asked the other woman. "I played my part last night after the town fell silent. I do not believe I was seen."

"Very good, Anna," said Marissa. "I, too, had success in my part. They do not suspect a thing."

"Then all is well," the fourth said.

"Indeed," said Marissa. "Now all we have to do is wait until the time is right. The boy will yet die at our hands."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Gaius could not determine the exact cause of Salia's sickness, though he was comfortable saying that it was not a contagious condition, which eased Leon's fears about letting the queen linger so close. Not that Leon could truly tell the queen to do otherwise, but he had sworn to protect her, and he thought that sometimes may include protecting her from herself.

Gwen, for her part, was overwhelmed with concern – first and foremost for Salia, but also that the source of the problem be found so whatever it was could be stopped.

"Could it have been a bad meal?" Gwen wagered.

Gaius shifted in his chair. He could no longer stand when he performed these diagnoses.

"I suppose, my lady, it could be, but I fear it may be something much more sinister. I have not seen a sickness like this in many years. It may be caused by magic."

"Magic?" Gwen asked. "Who in Camelot would do such a thing? And to so kind a girl?"

"That is a troubling question," said Gaius, "But not one I can answer. Since you have allowed magic again there are any number of practitioners of the old religion living within Camelot's boarders."

"But in these eight years I've never seen any harm come from them," said Gwen.

Gaius huffed as he stood. "Magic is neither good nor bad," he said, "It's people who can grow evil in their hearts."

Arthur, who had been reclining in a corner, glanced up. It sounded very much like something Merlin had tried to tell him a long time ago, but he hadn't been willing to hear then.

Gaius told the queen the best thing to do was to send for Merlin. A flurry followed, as no one had seen Merlin since very early in the morning, and no one knew quite where to look for him.

"Don't tell me you've lost him," Gaius said.

"George said he took breakfast with him this morning," Gwen said fretfully.

"I believe George mentioned something about a lake earlier," said Leon. "Or a woman, maybe."

Athur sat up in disbelief. Was Merlin really going after that blonde from yesterday afternoon? When there was important work in Camelot?

"Ah," said Giaus, "I should think I know where Merlin went."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Leon sent Tristan and Galahad to fetch Merlin at a lake on the outskirts of Camelot. When Arthur heard the name of the place, he was certain he knew it, and went ahead of the knights, floating his way through the atmosphere at a speed they could not follow.

Arthur found Merlin standing on the shore, the water lapping at the tip of his boots. Across the lake, a small mountain range rose, and in the water a single monolith stood on an island like a beacon.

This was Avalon.

"Merlin," Arthur said softly. The sound made the sorcerer startle, and Arthur was surprised to catch him wiping a tear from his eye before he turned.

Merlin radiated a sadness so deep that Arthur, who was about to chastise his friend for taking a day off, fell silent. After a moment he said, "I know this place."

Merlin nodded.

"This is where we were going the day…"

"The day you died," Merlin said. "Yes."

Arthur, trying to be delicate stumbled around the idea. "Why are you here now?"

"You're not the only one I buried here," Merlin said.

"I remember," said Arthur. "Elyan was laid to rest here."

"Lancelot too," added Merlin.

"But you haven't come for them, have you?"

Merlin wiped away another tear. "Not today. I come here for all your anniversaries. Today," – he seemed to choke on his own breath – "is Freya's."

"I'm sorry, I don't know who…"

"You wouldn't remember her. She was a girl I knew once. I freed her from a witch hunter in Camelot." Merlin's tone changed, and suddenly he was very matter-of-fact. "We were going to run away together, she and I."

Arthur blanched at the idea. Merlin and a girl running away? "And what about me?"

"Oh I was going to leave you," Merlin said.

"You'd chose a girl over me?" Arthur said in playful horror.

"Well," Merlin said.

"Hey!" Arthur snapped. "Abandoning your king is treason."

Merlin chuckled, and a genuine smile blossomed on his face. Arthur felt content that his work of cheering his friend was done – but curiosity still had a hold on him. Why had Merlin never spoken of this girl?

"What happened to her?" Arthur asked.

And Merlin almost said, _you killed her_ , but he stopped himself – because no matter how lightheartedly he said it, Arthur would still be devastated. So instead Merlin shrugged and just said, "What always happens. She was wounded, and I could not save her."

"It's not your fault, Merlin," said Arthur. He thought he was being kind, and Merlin let him go on thinking so.

"Anyway," Merlin said, "What have you come all the way out here to tell me. Or could you not entertain yourself for one afternoon?"

Before Arthur could answer, Tristian and Galahad broke through the tree line, rouge capes still wavering from the haste of their journey.

"Sir Sorcerer, you are needed right away."


	19. The Murder and the Message

A large shadow engulfed the outside of Salia's small house, and Leon, sleepily standing guard, turned his head to the sky. He nearly drew his sword when he saw the massive beast circling overhead – then he remembered it was only Aithusa, and she was a welcome sign that Merlin was near.

A minute later Merlin, Tristian and Galahad (and Arthur, who Leon could not see) appeared in a thundering storm of horse hooves and dust.

"Where is she?" Merlin asked seriously, and Leon, adopting a similarly serious air, led him inside.

Gaius and Gwen were still by Salia's side. Arthur, who followed close behind Merlin, noted that her condition had worsened – she was still pale and sweating, but had stilled so completely she seemed already gone.

More than that, Arthur could feel her spirit tugging at the veil. She was still hanging on, but the connection was so tentative it seemed a breeze could dislodge her from the mortal world.

"She hasn't much time left," said Gaius.

Merlin stooped next to the girl, intently focused. He touched her hand; cold skin. He lifted a lid; cloudy eyes.

And then, in a performance which drew the attention of Arthur and everyone else in the room, Merlin summoned all his energy and in long, low vowels drew out spell. The air in the room seemed to shutter under the weight of his power, and sure enough when he had finished Arthur could no longer sense the girl's departing spirit.

She seemed somewhat restored, though by no means cured.

"That will buy her some time," said Merlin, "But I'll need something stronger to properly cure her. Gaius, have you any elder berry in your chambers?"

Giaus nodded solemnly.

"She should be strong enough to move now. We must take her to the castle at once," Merlin ordered.

Gwen nodded, another serious gesture – they were all serious gestures now – and the knights carried Salia from the house on her straw mattress.

Everyone departed in a hurry, except Arthur, who stood for a moment in disbelief. He'd never seen Merlin like that before. Powerful, clever – and not in a gaming way, in a way that brimmed with intelligence.

Had he been that way before?

Had Merlin – clumsy, idle Merlin – chanted spells like that over Arthur to preserve his life? Had his eyes glowed golden and the air contracted in a swirl around him?

What had Arthur's servant really done for him?

Despite his hurry, Merlin had not failed to notice Arthur was not present. He bid the knights, who had appropriated a cart from a nearby farmer, to go on ahead and get Salia comfortable, and he slipped back inside.

"Something wrong?" Merlin asked Arthur.

The kingly ghost snapped out of an apparent daze and shook his head. "Why would there be?"

Merlin nodded and turned to go, leaving the door open so Arthur might follow.

Both men had the simultaneous thought that it was shaping up to be a strange day, and not in a particularly nice way, but neither found the voice to say it.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Merlin cooked up a strange concoction of herbs, chanting all the while, and bound his creation in a small leather bag. A poultice, he said, to place under the girl's pillow. She would recover, but it would take time.

She was tucked away in Merlin's old bed, with Gaius left in a chair by her bedside to watch over her for the afternoon.

Merlin had been plagued by a twinge of guilt while he worked. He'd been back at the castle for some time now, but he had scarcely gotten to know Gwen's shy handmaid..

More than that, he should have been readily accessible when she needed his skills.

Anyone who knew Merlin well enough knew he felt not only obligated to Gwen and George, but obligated to the castle, the citadel, the lower town, and to life itself.

To slight any component of that obligation felt like a failure to Merlin.

But then, as soon as Merlin sat down to wallow in his perceived shortcomings, George appeared seemingly out of thin air (actually, it was out of curtains where he'd been playing a very singular game of hide-and-find) and plopped down next to his servant.

"Merlin?" George said.

"Yes, Prince George?"

The child wrinkled his nose. "Can we play a game? I was playing with Galahad, but he's rubbish at it. He told me to hide and he'd find me, but I've been hiding for ages."

Merlin inadvertently let out a chuckle. "Certainly, George. What would you like to play?"

"Not hide and find," he said definitively. "Can we play knight and sorcerer, except you be the knight and I'll be the sorcerer?"

Merlin nodded, and with that the young prince dragged him out to the court yard, armed him with a long stick, and declared there was a monster threatening the castle.

"Aithusa can be the monster," George said, gesturing to the sleeping dragon. "She's not very scary, but she'll do better than the horses."

From there a very complex tale unfolded – a beast was stealing sheep and threatening the outer villages, and only one knight was brave enough to face the monster.

"Sir Merlin," George explained, "Went to attack the monster, and…and…and he almost had it, but it was a big bugger and the monster just about squished the knight!"

Merlin pantomimed this, while an unenthusiastic Aithusa plodded around the square.

The knight was wounded, George said, and almost died, but for a friendly sorcerer who happened by ("That's me, okay?" said George) and saved him.

Then they fought the monster together. When George, as the sorcerer, cast a spell, little sparks flew across the space, tickling Aithusa's nose. The young prince leapt with delight, and Merlin let out a hearty laugh, repeating the magic when George said the same made-up spell.

Eventually, the beast was defeated, and the play devolved into George pleading for Merlin to do more magic. The sorcerer, feeling a bit more light-hearted, complied.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Arthur had hoovered in the court yard, watching Merlin and George play. The charming scene had at first brought him joy, but more and more it occurred to Arthur that he should have been the one playing with George. Somewhere the happiness morphed in to something like sadness, and Arthur could watch no more.

He set out instead to wander the grounds, with half a mind to check on the ill girl.

Nearly to Gaius's door, he was floored by the sight of a tired Gwen puttering away. Leon hoovered by her side.

"My lady, you should take some rest. Gaius is watching her."

"I fear I cannot rest well while she is ill," Gwen said. "You go, Leon. The afternoon patrol should be back soon and they will be ready to make a report."

Leon looked hesitant, but Gwen continued to wave him away. "I'll be fine," she urged.

With a solemn nod, Leon left. Gwen, believing she was alone, let out a forlorn sigh, her queenly walls coming down for a deserved moment.

Arthur studied her: she was older now, but no less beautiful. The lines webbing around her eyes only added to her subtle grace, reading as wisdom on her kind face. Her hair was beginning to gray, Arthur noted, and he wondered if his would be too if he were still alive.

"Gwen?" he ventured.

She didn't stir from her thoughtful state.

"Gwen, I wish you could hear me. There are so many things I've wanted to tell you. And I hate to see you sad."

The spectral king took a few steps forward, and Gwen seemed to give a little shiver. She looked around, and then she looked right through Arthur.

"What I wanted to say, Gwen – what I never had the chance to say, is that I didn't mean to leave you alone. I didn't mean for the burden of the thrown to fall so swiftly on you. I know you never needed me to protect you, you do a fine job of that yourself, but I hate thinking – knowing – you had to do so much of this alone. I should have fought harder to stay with you."

Gwen turned, as if she might go back into Gaius's chamber. Arthur, suddenly desperate, put a hand on her shoulder, and that seemed to stay her. She turned back around and tried very hard to focus on the nothing in front of her. Arthur almost believed she might be listening.

"What I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't come home to you. And I'm glad that you have our son to keep you company, and Leon and Gaius to support you, and I'm glad you found Merlin and you have him too. But I would give anything to come back to you."

Gwen blinked, her lips parting like she might make a response. But when she spoke, it was not to Arthur.

"Merlin," she said. Arthur turned to see the sorcerer there, looking more than a little haunted.

"I," Merlin mumbled, "I just came to check on Salia."

"Yes," said Gwen, "I was just going back in myself."

Merlin nodded. "You go ahead, I'll be right there. I just need to check something first."

Gwen pulled the door open a crack. "Something wrong, Merlin?" she asked.

"No," Merlin said. "Everything is fine."

Gwen disappeared behind the old oak door, letting it fall shut with a definitive sound.

"How much did you hear?" Arthur asked.

"I didn't hear anything," Merlin said, which of course meant he'd heard all of it. "Arthur, you know it's not your fault. You didn't choose to die. It just happened. Gwen never blamed you. No one did."

Arthur bowed his head a moment. He said, "A sick girl needs your help, Merlin. Get to it."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Salia's condition had been steady throughout the afternoon, but when Merlin entered the room, it seemed to suddenly worsen.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked, though Merlin made no response. He rushed to the girl's side, as Gwen hurried to press a wet cloth to the girl's forehead.

"Something has changed," Merlin said.

"She was fine until just a moment ago," Gaius said. He stood unsteadily and puttered with as much speed as he could muster towards his shelf of herbs.

"Have you got witch bane?" Merlin asked. A chorus of small vials clinked together behind him.

"Gaius?"  
"I'm looking."

Changing plans, Merlin began to whisper a spell, repeating it quickly over and over. The girl's condition only worsened.

"What is happening?" Gwen asked.

"I don't know," Merlin said, trying a different spell. Salia began to convulse and sweat and so Merlin tried something else, but it did not good. Suddenly she went still.

Gaius stopped searching through the vials.

"No," Merlin growled. "I'm not losing anyone else."

He spat out another spell, one that in his anger sounded more like a curse. The girl did not stir. Merlin glowered and began again, but Arthur put a hand on his shoulder.  
"Stop it, Merlin, she's gone," Arthur said. "You did your best."

Merlin feel silent, and suddenly something dawned on him: he'd seen this before. He slid his hand under the pillow and produced the poultice he'd placed there. Deliberately, he unwrapped it.

Ash fell from bag where herbs and medicine had once been.

"What does it mean?" Gwen asked through a cloud of fresh tears.

"Someone poisoned my poultice," Merlin said, an anger bubbling just beneath the surface. "Gaius, who was in this room besides you?"

Gaius blinked. "Gwen, Asha, Leon, a few of the other knights, and yourself. Oh, and there was a woman."

"A woman?"

"She claimed to be a relative of Salia's. She sat beside the bed for a little while, said she wanted to check on her cousin."

"Did she touch the poultice?" Merlin asked.

Gaius thought. "No, but she stroked Salia's hair. She touched the pillow."

Merlin, on the verge of pure rage, stormed out of the room, leaving a grieving Gwen and flustered Gaius to come to terms with what had happened.

Merlin marched down the hallway until he was a safe distance from Gaius's chambers and then let out a yowl like wounded animal. Chunks of the wall the size of loaves of bread exploded into dust on either side of him before he managed to swallow his anger.

"Don't take it out on the castle," Arthur said. "Or me for that matter." He tried to indicate that several sizeable pieces of rock had gone straight through his ethereal form, but Merlin was not paying attention.

"I've seen this kind of magic before," Merlin said. "It was the same kind of magic that killed your father."

"My father?"

"When he was sick and I tried to heal him, Morgana used a spell like that one to reverse my efforts. The spell meant to save his life killed him instead. And now it's happened again. I've been made a murderer twice."

Arthur's mind, or whatever he had that was like a mind, stumbled over the idea in his head. "My father?" he said again. "Of course that was you. I tried to kill you."

"You tried to kill me lots of times. That's not the point."

"And what is?"

Merlin flopped crossed-legged to the ground and bent his head low. "I've spent my life trying to prove that magic isn't evil. I've risked my life over that one idea more times than I can count. But no matter what good I do, or try to do, people keep using magic for awful things. Maybe it _is_ as evil as you once believed it."

Arthur nodded. "Maybe," he said. He lowered himself next to Merlin, back against the uneven castle wall. "But I don't think so. Because you're not evil, Merlin. You're probably the best person I know, except maybe Gwen. And if magic is in you, then it can't be bad."


End file.
